


Back-Story (Every Fire Needs a Little Bit of Help)

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama & Romance, Gen, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Prequel, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6104688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by re-reading The Hunger Games-Why was Madge so insistent that Katniss wore her pin in the arena?</p>
<p>Plutarch is young and in love, Mags is fierce and ready for vengeance and Snow is a cold-hearted dictator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The world of Panem, The Hunger Games, Muttations, "Together" etc.etc.,everything you recognise, all clearly belongs to Suzanne Collins, I am just playing with her creation for fun.

Prologue

Piper Mellark hummed a tune put into her head by Capitol TV. She rose up on her toes and span around until her dress fanned out and her head started to spin too. Her parents had finally agreed to let her go to the Summer fling. It had taken so much pleading and being extra helpful, but it had been worth it. Everyone would be going.

“Just make sure you stay out of trouble,” her ever protective mother had warned her.

“What trouble can a 12 year old girl get in to round here?” Piper had shrugged back.

The soft green fabric of the dress was really pretty; but Piper thought she looked too pale with her father’s skin colouring against the dark “Seam” hair she had inherited from her mother. She wondered if her mother would notice if she borrowed just a little bit of make up? 

Using her lightest tread, she crossed the landing into her parents’ room.

Being there without permission felt wrong as soon as she crossed the threshold. Their room was kind of their private space. Every other part of the Mellark’s home was shared openly with their children; but this was Katniss and Peeta’s sanctuary. Dim images crept out from the back of Piper’s mind. Images of a time when her mother never left her bed and Piper’s days were spent making cookies with her father. Were these memories? She couldn’t quite be sure. They didn’t fit with the energetic, thoroughly involved, mother Piper had to contend with these days. But this room always held a scent of it, something that was never spoken about. 

Feeling a little unsure of herself, she started to open the drawers in the dressing table. The first one had no makeup; but there was a brooch; a golden pin. 

It fitted in the palm of her hand. A circle of gold containing a golden bird, its wings spread for flight. It was heavier than she had thought it would be; it must be made of solid metal. 

“The Mockingjay” Piper whispered the words with awe.

Of course she knew what it was. She had seen it in history class, in one of the images of her mother that seemed so far removed from who she was now. But Piper hadn’t had any idea that the Mockingjay Pin would be here in a drawer in her house. 

She tucked it back in the drawer, nestled in a silk scarf with her mother’s other jewellery; a gold pendant and some pearl earrings. She had seen her wearing the ear rings on special occasions. Piper supposed she didn’t think gold suited her as well.

She carried on her search for cosmetics, finally hitting the jackpot of Katniss’ small make up bag. Mimicking her mother, she sat herself at the dressing table, about to take her first step to artificially enhance her appearance. It felt like quite a moment. 

Carefully, Piper stroked her cheek bones with the brush, “just a glow” she cautioned herself, remembering the make up tutorials she had watched as part of Capitol TV’s youth programming. 

She was too engrossed in seeing her face in a different way to notice her father until he appeared in the mirror behind her.

Piper dropped the brush, feeling like she had been caught red handed; he must have been able to feel the heat coming off her face. But he was smiling at her.

“Here you are. Are you adding your finishing touches? How are you feeling?”

He put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders so they could look at each other in the mirror rather than face to face.

“You look lovely.”

“Sorry,” Piper apologised, placing the brush back on the dressing table. “I should have asked.”

“Hey,” Peeta gave her a gentle squeeze; “It’s ok, your mother won’t mind you know?”

And just like that she felt back to normal again. No guilt left to spoil the evening.

Right on cue, Katniss appeared in the doorway. Her eyes glistened as she came over to give Piper a loving hug. There was nothing like being held in the warmth of her mother’s arms.

“I just wanted to put some colour in my cheeks,” Piper whispered shyly.

“You’ll do that with dancing,” Katniss reassured her daughter.

She let out a deep sigh, as her hands automatically started braiding Piper’s hair.

“You look beautiful. But far, far too grown up already.”

She turned to Peeta, “I can’t believe our daughter is already twelve.”

Piper didn’t miss the way she subtly emphasised her age, or the look exchanged between her parents.

She had learned at school that 12 was the age of reaping before the districts rose up against the Capitol. It was nearly impossible to imagine what that must have been like. To be taken from your home and forced to fight to the death.

“Thank you.” 

All at once she realised how much she needed to tell them that. Seeing them as the people they were aside from being her parents. 

“For stopping the reaping; stopping the Hunger Games.”

That did it; the three of them clung to one another, squeezing close, like flour and water and yeast being bound together into dough.

“Would you tell me more about it sometime?” 

Katniss brushed the hair from Piper’s face as she straightened up again.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I found the Mockingjay pin; when I was looking for your make up,” Piper confessed.

“Where did it come from?”


	2. A Hundred Years Before

Aurin was weary. He felt like an old man as he trudged on across the wilderness that separated the Capitol from his district. This wasn’t how the end of the war should feel. There had been no climax, no final battle. Yesterday morning he woke, ready to fight for the freedom of Panem, stood shoulder to shoulder with his comrades to wait the general’s command. 

General Deel arrived late. He saluted the troops and spoke of their bravery. 

But District 13 had been destroyed, and the loss of life could not go on. 

“Surrender!” Aurin spat as he said the word.

He would rather have fought on and be dead. 

But in Panem it seemed destiny wasn’t your own to decide. This time it was the District Generals who made the call: A long walk back to District 1 for Aurin Sheen, the goldsmith’s son.

He had set out from the front last night, raging with anger at the weakness of their decision; but a 50 mile trek through the barren landscape of this separation zone had succeeded in wearing him down. Now he was looking forward to seeing the family home again.

He thought about the friends he had made during the fighting. Friends with different accents and ways, all fighting for the same cause. The war had given him the opportunity to find out that people from the other Districts were not to be feared. 

His mouth twisted at the memory of Halle from District 2. Maybe she was to be feared. It had taken a bit of adjustment for him to accept her as a man’s equal on the battlefield. In 1, women had distinct roles. Just as important, but different. In 2 it seemed gender lines were drawn in other ways.

He hadn’t realised he was humming until he heard the melody echoing around him. It was Halle’s song. The District 2 ode to the mountains played back at him four fold through the mouths of the sparky black birds.

“Mockingjays.”  


They brought a much needed lift to his pace. He sang back to them, moving through songs from District 2, to 3 and 4; trying to remember all he could about the people of Panem whom he might never have met if they hadn’t been joined by the conflict with the capitol.

The music combined with Aurin’s natural optimism to bring him out of his funk. Something good could come out of this; the fighting wouldn’t have been for nothing. 

The temperature quickly dropped after the sun set. He hadn’t slept at all the night before, with the energy from his anger pushing him on. Now he knew he had to listen to his body and rest for a few hours, so he bedded down in a natural dip next to a rock, spreading more rocks and dirt over him to try to keep some heat in. As a soldier in the makeshift rebel army, he had soon learnt to sleep almost anywhere. Usually he and Halle would sit back to back and take it in turns to sleep, using each others body as a resting place, trusting each other to keep watch. The rock was a poor substitute. 

He woke with the dawn, gathered up his pack and set off again. No point looking back. He tried to work out how long he had been away. There had been two summers. The surrender had come with signs of another winter. The lack of food and disease had started to take its toll as much as the Capitol Army’s bombs. 

Two summers… His sisters would be older; Radiance would be 19 and Shimmer, nearly 15. What else would have changed in District 1? 

  


He couldn’t work out what it was at first, but as he got closer he could see it was a fence. At least 10 feet high, made of barbed wire and humming with electricity. He followed it around for a couple of miles before he found the welcoming committee. A gate manned by figures in the all too familiar white armour of the Capitol. 

They raised their weapons as he approached.

“Place your hands on your head. No quick movements. We have orders to shoot at our discretion.”

Aurin followed their commands and approached the desk.

“Keep your hands up and answer all questions.”

“Name.”

“Aurin Sheen.”

“Date of birth”

“August 3rd.”

“Profession”

Inside him Aurin longed to reply, “freedom fighter”, but he knew now wasn’t the time for insolence.

“Goldsmith.”

“Give me your left hand, keep the right hand on your head.”

It was killing Aurin to have to follow orders from the enemy.

The soldier grasped his hand and took a sample of blood from his finger. The machine indicated it matched with the information he had given.

“Your pack”

His bag was taken and he was patted down, his gun and knife removed.

“Welcome back to your district, citizen of Panem.” The soldier started what was clearly a well rehearsed speech.

“Security throughout our nation is now being managed by our peacekeeping forces. Go back to your work and family safe in the knowledge that the Capitol will protect you. Together we will prosper.”

Their guns indicated Aurin should proceed into the district. It was clear he wouldn’t be getting his pack returned. 

From the lack of rubble and dust, Aurin could immediately see that District 1 had been largely spared from bombing. He had fought in Districts 3 and 4 before heading for the Capitol. 3 in particular had been decimated by air attacks. But Districts 1 and 2 had always had a special relationship with the Capitol. Soldiers from these districts were a rarity in the rebellion, and there was often suspicion that they were Capitol spies. It had been this that initially pushed him together with Halle.

Aurin remembered his first day at the training camp in District 4. He was excited to be there right at the start of the rebellion. To be part of the generation that finally took a stand against the Capitol’s rule of fear and violence.

He would never forget his first sight of the Ocean, beams of light sparkling on the waves reminiscent of the lustre only the finest jewellery makers could produce. It was a chill day in late October. He had just turned 19 and should have been learning his trade as his father’s apprentice. But, while he had a natural flare for their craft, providing goods for the capitol did not interest him. He had seen what happened when the buyers came to the house. The constant threats with occasional unpredictable acts of violence thrown in, just to make sure they understood the threats were real. His fathers workshop had been destroyed twice in his memory; once when he had dared to ask for a higher price, and a few years later when the customer decided his handiwork wasn’t up to scratch. Then he had to start again, buying his tools from far away districts where they had heavy industries.

Aurin didn’t think he would be able to do what his father did, and bow his head and apologise to his attackers for causing them upset. It was when the new tools arrived he heard the whispers of unrest in the other districts and decided he needed to join the fight for a new Panem. His father’s death from a heart attack, brought on by stress, finalised his decision. He hiked out of his district and managed to jump on one of the slow moving freight trains returning from the Capitol to District 4. 

So he arrived in District 4 full of fighting spirit, only to be met with suspicion. He was allowed to train, but he noticed that he and a girl from District 2 were the only ones never provided with a weapon. They’d had their knives taken from them at the first inspection, and they were never returned.

“They don’t trust us,” the girl from 2, who had turned out to be Halle, commented, as once again they found themselves left to pair up. With nothing else to use, their unarmed combat skills were certainly developing. He no longer went easy on her as she had shown she was more than able to bring him down with her legs once she was on the ground. He was used to the women of District 1, taught from an early age to use their beauty and grace. Halle had soon taught him a thing or two about girl power. The image of her standing over him with her foot pressed on his balls would be with him for life.

“We need to prove ourselves,” he replied.

They were silent as they practised their holds, both trying to think of how they could show their allegiance.

And now he was back in District 1, he could feel the same mistrust from his own people. He had been on the losing side, never a good place to be in a society based on letting only the strongest survive. People turned away from him as he walked through the town, as though he was contagious; he couldn’t care less for himself, but he started to worry that his status as a possible troublemaker would affect his sisters. 

His family lived above the workshop where he and his father had made fine jewellery for the Capitol’s elite. He wondered how his mother and sisters would have fared during the war. They must have been suffering too. He slowly climbed the stairs that wound around the back of the workshop, up to the family home. And then he stopped for a moment at the door, wondering if he should knock. He didn’t feel like he belonged here anymore. It looked unchanged, in surprisingly good repair even. The door had been given a new coat of paint. He compromised by knocking and then pushing the door open himself.

“Aurin!” Shimmer screamed, and leapt towards her brother. Her face ricocheted off him as it collided with the wall of hard muscle that lay beneath his coat. He grabbed her into his arms, and was glad to find tears were welling in his eyes. He had wondered if he would ever be able to cry again after numbing himself to so much in the war.

He could feel his sister trembling as he held her.

“Hey, shush now,” he comforted her,” what’s the matter?”

“We thought you must be dead,” she whispered through her sobs.

Pulling back to look in her eyes, he emphasised his words, “No, I am very much alive.”

Two years had certainly changed his sister. She had been a lanky 12 year old when he left. But, now she had grown into her self and was filling out into a young woman. He was surprised to see how well fed she looked. There may not have been any rubble, but he had noticed that the children he had seen in town looked as gaunt and dishevelled as children in the other districts.

“Aurin; you’re home!” his mother gasped, pulling him to her for a few moments before she started bustling. 

“Sit down; let me get you something to eat, you look starved.”

He let her fuss around him, producing a sandwich, overstuffed with meats and pickles. The taste was almost too much for his mouth that had grown accustomed to roots and berries.

”How are you managing to still eat like this?

She sat before him, her face serious.

“Aurin, son, I can’t think of any other way to tell you; so I’ll just have to tell you…”

She was stalling.

“Radiance was taken to the Capitol for questioning after you left.”

She let the words sink in before continuing.

Aurin was stuck with a mouth full of food that he could no longer chew. 

“Where is she now?” 

“You mustn’t blame yourself.”

“No,” Aurin replied, slamming his fist into the table with surging anger, “I blame the Capitol. Why should Radiance be questioned because her brother doesn’t agree with the government? Why is it ok to threaten innocent citizens?”

“Hush son,” his mother warned. “The Capitol has been good to us.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“In what way has the Capitol been good?”

“They agreed to give Radiance work, so we could pay for our rent and food; keep the workshop open in the hope you might return.”

Radiance working in the Capitol; this was too much for Aurin to take in. He knew only too well what that meant.

District 1 prided itself as a District of skilled craftsmen with high status in the hierarchy so loved by the rulers of Panem. Something it didn’t like to advertise quite so widely was that, as the supplier of luxury goods to the Elite, the District was also expected to provide “escorts”, human arm ornaments for the rich and powerful to use as their play things. Such a fate was usually spared from the craftsmen’s families. 

“So, let me get this straight, you gave them Radiance as an apology for my morals.” Aurin was fuming with his mother.

“They value her looks, they won’t hurt her.”

He couldn’t believe her, did she really even believe that herself?

He was about to continue the fight when he caught sight of Shimmer’s frightened face. He held his hand out to her.

“Sorry; it’s just such a shock for me to come back to this.”

She was crying again, “I’ve been so scared.”

His heart clenched as he realised his youngest sister was being kept plump for the Capitol to feast on.

“You should know that tough decisions have to be taken in war, Aurin.” his mother added her final words. “We survived to be here for you today.”

  


Aurin wanted to refuse anything provided by the Capitol, but eventually he swallowed his pride to take a warm bath. He lay in the water, watching it turn thick with particles of who knew what, until he had to get out, rinse it clean and start again. He abstained from using any of the fragranced bubble mixtures as a small gesture of defiance.

“Pathetic” he shook his head at what he had been reduced to in terms of fighting back.

It was good to soak for an hour though. 

He felt completely alone here in District 1. There had been few rebels from this district. Those he had met had been killed. They were brought up to have refined tastes, which didn’t make for natural killer instincts like those from 2 and 7 seemed to have.

Mostly he missed Halle. He had asked her to come back to District 1 with him, but she said it wouldn’t be allowed. And, of course, she had been right. She was always right. They would have stopped her at the gate, and then what? These Capitol, “peacekeepers” were drilled to always follow the protocol. She may well have been shot, just because they wouldn’t have known what else to do with her.

He shook this image from his head, replacing it with better memories of Halle. They had grown close over the years together; closer than the army would have officially approved, though he was sure his officers just turned a blind eye. You couldn’t put young men and women into such intense situations and not expect feelings to develop. 

More than anything he wanted to see her smile again. 

There had to be a way he could contact her; he just hadn’t thought of it yet.

  


Aurin towelled himself dry and dressed in some of his old clothes that now pulled across his shoulders and upper arms. 

He lay on the bed he had slept in since he was a child, but where he no longer belonged. Bouncing a ball rhythmically off the wall, he tried again to think of how he could communicate with Halle and the others from his unit who hadn’t been ready to give up the fight.

A Mockingjay flew past the window. It reminded him of how he and Halle had finally managed to prove they could be trusted. 

Back when he first arrived in District 4 there had been no Mockingjay’s, only the mockingbirds of old. Aurin and Halle had been sitting outside, on a wall, sharing their rations as they cautiously started to get to know each other. Up until then he had just managed to find out that Halle was stronger on her left than right side; and she could put him in a killer head lock with just her thighs.

An unusually bold bird kept hopping up to eat the fallen crumbs.

Halle stopped to watch the bird.

“I swear it’s listening in to our conversation,” she remarked.

“Do you want to know our secrets?” Aurin joked with the bird.

It hopped up closer, tipping it’s head to one side.

Seriously, there’s something odd about that bird,” Halle insisted. 

Aurin hadn’t known her long, but he had seen there was something kind of wise about Halle.  
Whilst the bird was looking at her, he threw his jacket over it and pinned his body over it. He gathered it up. 

“Come on, let’s go and have a closer look at it.”

They took it inside, closed the doors and windows before pulling it out as gently as they could.

“I don’t know a lot about birds, but, I don’t think that looks like a normal Mockingbird. They’re usually more of a drab brown colour, this one is too black and sharp, if you get what I mean?”

Halle listened to what Aurin had noticed and nodded slowly.

“It could be a Mutt.”

“What’s that?” Aurin had never come across this before.

“A muttation, the Capitol makes copies of animals but genetically enhances them. They’ve done it with horses that work in the mines in District 2; so they can see in the dark and the dust doesn’t bother them. I wouldn’t put it past them to start doing the same with humans before too long.”

“We should take it to the captain, if it’s based on a Mockingbird, it’s probably going to repeat back every thing it hears.”

Halle snorted, “It _was __spying on us!”_

This turned out to be a significant find, for which Halle and Aurin were at last each rewarded with a rifle and more importantly, acceptance within their unit. 

Aurin now wondered if he could somehow use the Mockingjays to get a message to Halle. But they could no longer talk like the pure bred “jabberjay” mutts; and training a bird to fly to find Halle over in District 2 was not going to happen. 

Restless again, Aurin got off his bed and went to find his mother and sister. Despite his grievance with his mother, he still wanted to spend time with them, to try to get reacquainted.

They were sitting in front of the flashing T.V. Screen. 

“You’re just in time, there’s going to be a mandatory broadcast.” His mother indicated for him to sit down between them.

He was used to these broadcasts that had been going for years, decades even, as long as he could remember the Capitol had beamed itself into everyones home at regular intervals. 

“More propaganda”, he sighed to himself, but settled down to be with what remained of his family.

The blare of the national anthem rang out across a close up of the crest of Panem. The camera drew back to focus on the victorious President.

“People of Panem. Today we celebrate.”

Pause for applause, most probably canned, seeing as he was speaking from inside his mansion.

“I bring you peace!”

More fake cheers.

“Go back to work with no more fear of terrorism, send your children back to school. The stability of our society will return. The rebels have been vanquished, their selfish plans for change failed, as we always knew they would.”

”This IS the New Panem, a Panem that rose from the ashes of past wars and natural disasters. This Panem works. We do not need change, we need stability.”

”I bring you that stability.”

”The war is over and we must return to work.”

”I have a message for those who fought for the rebellion. You were foolish, you were misled, but I am merciful. We know the value of each life for the future of Panem, and so we will not hunt you down for these crimes of war. Show your penance in your labours for your fellow country men and women.”

“Yes, I am merciful; We can forgive.”

The tone of his voice lowered, ominously.

”We can forgive; but we must never forget.”

”This war has demonstrated once and for all that our peace depends on the strength found only in the Capitol.”

”And so I declare the start of our newest tradition.”

He once more returned to his voice of triumph.

”An annual celebration of strength.”

”Because only through strength and power do we maintain hope for the future.

Be filled with hope my citizens, and remember that out of war and destruction , the strongest _will __survive.”_

”The lessons from this war must never be forgotten. And so it is our young people who will keep our new tradition alive.

To them we entrust our hope.

And so it will be from the young people that a male and female tribute will be chosen to have the honour of representing their district in battle.

The Reward for victory will be great. Prosperity and glory for your district for the year.”

Cheering from the canned masses.

”The winner will be our symbol of hope, 

But the stakes will be high.

For our young people must show that they are willing to give _everything __to defend our peace.”_

”This will be a fight to the death.” 

Pause for hushed gasps.

“Because that is what we have learned, People of Panem. We survive or we die.

The memory must be handed on to the next generation. 

These have been tough decisions to make, but I can reassure you, _I __have the strength to make the right choice._

I give you my promise as your president, I will keep our country holding firm to this ideal: Panem will stay strong, Panem will survive, Panem will prosper.”

Close up of the Presidents face, then the camera panned back up to the crest, before cutting to two gaudily dressed presenters.

Aurin looked across at his mother and sister. Their faces were like stone, no sign of any emotion at this spine chilling declaration. What had happened to them whilst he was away?

The presenters were in high spirits as they introduced their special guest.

” So let’s welcome him into our hearts and homes; he is going to become a regular on our screens, our head game maker, Andronicus Creador.”

A handsome man of around 30 years joined them. Quickly brushing the seat with his hand and straightening his cuffs before sitting down. He leaned forward as if to carefully take in every word that was being said. Or maybe he was just very short-sighted.

The presenter gave him some flattery and then asked him to explain the details of the new tradition announced by the President.

“We are going to call this pageant, ‘The Hunger Games’…” Creador began in his marked Capitol accent.

Aurin was finding it hard to believe what he was hearing. Even from the Capitol he hadn’t forseen this new way of abusing the citizens. They were going to take children from the districts and have them fight to the death, and this would be broadcast live as a symbol of hope, and called a game!”.

Again he looked to his mother and sister for some sort of reaction.

“No, surely you can’t be happy to just go along with this!” 

He couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

”I don’t think we get a say in it.” His mother replied, shrugging.

Aurin was left speechless by her apathy. His silence allowed him to catch the game maker explaining that young people from the age of 12 to 18 years would be eligible to take part in the Games.

“It could be Shimmer.” He found himself loosing his temper with his mother again, having not seen her for over two years and back home for half a day. He didn’t belong here any more.

Slamming the door, he left the house. He couldn’t stomach listening to any more of the Capitol’s broadcast.

Aurin wandered around the district, as though searching to find something, but not even sure what it was he had lost. The broadcast must have ended soon after he left his house as other people started coming out of their homes with worried faces. He noticed that People weren’t quite so distant with him as they had seemed when he first walked back into town. Maybe it helped that he had taken a bath and wore clean clothes instead of being covered in mud and dust from sleeping under a pile of rocks.

One of the many jewellers from the district was standing at his door, smoking a large cigar. Aurin had been friends with his children at school. He beckoned Aurin over to him. 

“It’s nice to see you back in District 1, Aurin.” 

“Thanks. I, erm, I just got back today actually,” he replied as though he had been away on a holiday. Aurin was aware he had already become more guarded. He used to love to speak out about his opinions and experiences; but things were not the same. He started to have a better understanding of the way his mother and sister were acting. 

The jeweller chatted to him about trade; gave his condolences about his father, and said they had needed him to return to get the Goldsmiths business going again.

“I have something for you actually,” he went into his home and returned a few minutes later with a bag. It contained various items made of gold, that could be melted down and reused.

“Just some old bits and pieces that came our way during the war,” he said, dismissing Aurin’s thanks.

He shook Aurin’s hand as he passed the bag over. He fixed Aurin with his eye.

“You mustn’t give it up.”

Aurin wasn’t sure, was he talking about his trade as a goldsmith, or did he mean something else? 

He realised how tired he was. He was still on constant watch for attack. If he had been with his unit, he would have called time to regroup, so he made his way back to the Goldsmith’s workshop to regroup himself. He needed to rest and take stock.

By the morning it had become clear in his mind. All he had to fight with in District 1 was his skill as a Goldsmith. 

He kept his thoughts about the Hunger Games to himself as he ate breakfast with his mother and Shimmer.

“I was thinking I need to get started back in the workshop again. All I can do is knuckle down and relearn my trade.”

His mother squeezed his hand, but her eyes were sad. 

  


Aurin clasped his hands behind his head and tried to stretch out the tension in his shoulders. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm his mind.

Today he was going to make the most important piece he had ever created. The first piece he had commissioned himself. Over the previous weeks he had worked at night to design and make the mold, and at last he had his opportunity to bring his idea to completion.

His work began with melting down the rings and other jewellery that had found its way to his fathers’ workshop. 

With his visor down, he watched the gold change under the heat of his blow torch; at first softening and then flowing together into a shining stream. Keeping a steady grip, he tipped the crucible, letting the liquid gold pour into the mold. He had fashioned the brooch so it was one continuous piece with no soldering, aside from the fastening pin at the back. It would never be broken.

Once the gold had cooled he cracked open the mold and destroyed it with more heat. Now for the part where he could let out some of his frustration. He hammered the brooch with firm, sharp taps until it lay flat and smooth. 

Finally he polished the brooch to a high shine. It was fiddly, but Aurin had the hands of a true craftsman, firm and steady yet able to manipulate the most delicate of shapes.

He held the finished article up to the light and was pleased with his work. To most people, it would be an attractive image of a bird. But those who knew better would recognise the symbol of natural goodness overcoming the Capitols plans. He hoped it would get his message through to District 2. 


	3. Meanwhile

Meanwhile

The train ground slowly on towards district two. The box car creaked as it rocked side to side, swaying the bodies of its dejected cargo.

Halle could feel the temperature drop as the track started the climb towards her district. The taste of the air brought a rush of familiar feelings. It was thinner here in the mountains making her pulse throb through her with every heart beat.

She had never felt more sick and tired in her life.

There were no windows to see but she could tell it was snowing hard. The draught squeezing in through every crack and gap was starting to whistle as the wind picked up. She hugged her pack and tried to conjure up the feeling of Aurin’s arms around her for warmth. Coughing spread like a viral chain reaction around the group of Rebel soldiers. Halle tucked her chin into her coat to cover her mouth and nose and tried not to think about death as she willed herself to sleep.

She was woken by the sound of brakes and the sudden cessation of movement.

A Capitol voice barked out the command; “Lie on your stomachs, faces down, hands on head. We are under orders to shoot at our discretion.”

Slowly the District 2 rebels followed the instructions. Most had been asleep; none of them wanted to follow orders from the Capitol, but it didn’t appear anyone was coming up with an alternative plan. There were less than 50 of them. All that remained of the volunteers from her district. She could see now that the numbers left to fight for the rebellion had become impossibly low; without the organisation and firepower from 13 the cause had been lost. 

A gun was pressed into the back of her neck.

“Slowly, get up. No sudden movements. I will kill you.”

Awkwardly, she pushed herself up onto her knees and then stood, trying to keep her hands on her head.

She was guided by the gun to climb down from the train to get her first sight of District 2 in a long time. She guessed they were at the station in the centre of the town, although, coming from one of the mining villages near the mountain, she had never seen this place before.

A track of dirty snow led from the train to a stone building. White armoured figures lined the route, their guns trained on her.

A shot was fired behind her. Another soldier gone.

“Faces down,” the voice insisted.

Inside the building, Halle was stopped and searched.

“Strip all your clothing.”

She hesitated at this. It was freezing for one thing.

“Strip!”

She peeled off her gloves and coat, followed by the rest of her clothing until she was standing in her underpants. Her skin had turned to gooseflesh.

“Naked!”

She could tell the Capitol soldier was interested only in humiliating her. 

“I have nothing to be ashamed of,” she reminded herself and quickly removed the last item to cover her.

“In there” he barked and gestured to a room to the left.

She joined three others, waiting in the tiled room with their arms folded around themselves. One of them recognised her.

“Halle; Halle Stone?” it was Catrina, from her village. They had fought in different units-the rebels had always split up the district 2 fighters, never quite trusting them, but their paths had crossed at various points during the war. 

They looked at each other awkwardly.

“So, what do you think they have planned for us now?” she asked in a shaky voice. She was younger than Halle and looked so small and defenceless.

“Who knows? I always like to just live for the moment,” Halle replied trying to help her companion feel braver by laughing it off.

She put her hand out for Catrina to hold on to and eventually pulled her in to a hug as the cold started their teeth chattering.

When four more had joined them, they heard the door lock.

With a sudden hiss that made them jump, water came out of shower heads across the ceiling. The water was scalding hot. An antiseptic smelling foam came down next, followed by a further rinse. Once they had adjusted to the shock, they made use of the foam and scrubbed their skin and hair. It actually did feel good to get clean and warmed through. Air was blown at them until they were dried off.

The next room had eight seats, each with a thin blue hospital gown folded neatly on it. And two armed guards.

“Put on the gown and wait your turn for medical inspection.”

One by one they were taken through and did not return.

Catrina went before Halle. “I hope we meet again on the other side,” she gave a weak smile.

“Silence,” commanded one of the soldiers guarding them.

Halle was taken through next. There was an examination couch; a doctor sat behind a desk looking at some papers. She indicated with a nod of her head that Halle should lie down. Another armed guard watched from the corner. 

First they confirmed her identity with the usual finger prick test. Then more blood was taken “for tests” and she was examined; her skin checked for infection, heart and lungs listened in on. Finally the doctor felt her abdomen.

“When was your last menstruation?” 

“Over 12 months ago,” Halle glowered at this further intrusion into her privacy.

The doctor frowned. “I’ll have to do a scan,” she sighed.

“What’s happening?” Halle could no longer resist showing that she actually had some interest in the Capitol’s plans for her.

She removed her glasses, folded her hands in her lap and looked at Halle.

“All returning fighters are to be subsumed into the ranks of the Capitol peacekeeping force, where they will be under close supervision from the army command. Female peacekeepers must be sterilised-your womb will be removed.”

She paused just for a second, showing the slightest compassion that this might be hard news for Halle to take in.

“However, I think your womb may be gravid.”

“Gravid? What does that mean?”

“You may be pregnant.”

Halle fell back onto the couch. The doctor might as well have thrown a rock at her head as give her this news. 

She got up briskly and collected a device from a cupboard. There was no further conversation as she scanned Halle’s abdomen. It took only a few minutes.

She switched off the machine and efficiently wiped her down.

“Right, through there. The guard will give you your orders.”

“What did you see?”

“The guard will give you your orders.” She repeated, turning away and opening the door.

“Next.”

Halle found herself out in the cold corridor again. They had certainly succeeded in making her feel helpless and disorientated.

“This way,” another soldier guided her. She caught herself feeling relieved to be told what to do.

“No, this is how it starts. You do not belong to the Capitol.” She reminded herself.

She was given her uniform, her hair was shaved off, and then, finally, she was shown into the canteen.

There were still armed guards stationed on raised platforms at each end of the room, but she was able to choose where she sat and people were talking freely. The sounds of the Capitol’s highly recognisable accent dominated in the room. These were mostly capitol soldiers not rebels. But she was able to spot Catrina. 

“Have they told you anything?” She asked, wondering if the Doctor had been forced to give her more information than the others.

“We are joining the Peacekeeping forces in the districts. “ She looked up at Halle with empty eyes.

“I know I shouldn’t have felt it, but part of me was relieved when I heard we had surrendered. I thought I would be going home.”

Halle frowned at her as she remembered how she knew Catrina from the village. Her older brother had been in Halle’s classes at school.

“Catrina, how old are you?”

She stirred her stew for a while before answering quietly, “16”.

“No one in my family ever took me seriously,” she continued. “They laughed when I said I was going to fight with the rebellion.”

“I wonder if they’ve even noticed I’ve gone yet.”

Halle watched her thoughtfully.

“You’ve done amazingly well to make it through the war. I think you have proved yourself.”

“Thanks,” she gave Halle a small smile, “Some of the older fighters took me under their wing. I’ve mostly learnt how to keep quiet and follow commands.”

They ate in silence for a while before Halle tried to lighten the atmosphere.

“The food’s better as a peacekeeper anyway.”

Catrina smiled back. “Yes, this is delicious. And so much of it!”

Just then an officer called out for everyone’s attention.

“Mandatory viewing will commence in 30 seconds.”

A large TV screen flashed into life bringing the message of Peace from the President and the announcement of the new national sport- The Hunger Games.

The peacekeepers, both established and new “recruits” watched in silence.

After the show had finished the officer spoke again.

“We have heard our President speak of the importance of maintaining Peace. We are in an honoured position to be entrusted with this task. Tomorrow units will be drawn up and deployed to the districts.”

The night was spent on a fold up bed in a dormitory with about thirty other Peacekeepers, mostly from the Capitol. The District 2 “recruits” as they were now being called, were separated out from each other.

The bed was actually more comfortable than most of the places Halle had slept in the last two years. But, she didn’t bother trying to sleep as she knew she needed the time to try to think through what was happening and consider her options.

As soon as the lights went out her mind filled with the news that she might be pregnant. How could she bring a child into the world in the middle of all this? Was it possible? She had assumed she couldn’t conceive as she wasn’t having periods. She and Aurin had never used any form of birth control; stupid really. She had joked with Catrina about living for the moment, but that was how it had been. They had fallen in love whilst everything else was falling apart. She couldn’t regret anything they had done.

Halle’s hands rested on her abdomen. It didn’t really feel any different, maybe there wasn’t a child. 

Either way they intended to remove her womanhood. It was barbaric. Halle had never exactly planned to have children; but neither was she someone who couldn’t imagine them in her life.

“No point imagining anymore.” She stopped herself thinking about a door that opened on that future, but allowed herself the comfort of thinking about Aurin. She cursed herself for not taking a risk and going to District 1 with him. The idea of the surrender and dispersing the rebels hadn’t seemed like it was real. She was following orders from General Deel, lining up with the others from District 2 to be put on the train when Aurin had suggested they could stay together. He was the only fighter left from 1 and had just been told to go back on foot. They didn’t think a lone rebel could do much damage. He would either make it home or be killed. The numbers from the other districts needed a bigger plan for damage control by the Capitol. Sending them back into their district identities was the first move.

“Come with me to District 1,” Aurin had whispered, as he held her close to his chest.

She stared up at his handsome face, bringing her hand up to stroke his cheek. His lips were full, his eyes flashing with emotion. 

Halle relived their last kiss, trying to make sure the memory was never lost.

They had been broken apart by a capitol soldier pointing his gun at Aurin’s head. The line of district 2 rebels was being marched away.

“All rebels must report to their home district within 48 hours. After this the amnesty will be over and rebels unaccounted for will be considered outlaws and shot.”

As soon as the soldier moved off, Aurin had mouthed at her “Outlaws,” and raised his eyebrows in a question.

She sighed, finally letting go of his hand and shook her head. 

“We can’t do anything if we’re dead. This war is not over, right?” This was the first thing they had discussed after news of the surrender. They would still find a way to fight on against the Capitol’s regime.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “We will fight on.”

“Together,” he added softly.

“Together,” Halle confirmed.

Before they could touch each other again, the Capitol soldier returned to grab Halle by the arm to join the others from District 2. 

It hadn’t seemed possible that they wouldn’t see each other again, but now Halle wasn’t so sure. They had underestimated the control the Capitol wielded. There would be no more contact between districts, no more sneaking out into the separation zones, no more slow trains to hop onto. The Capitol would not be taking any more chances.

“We can do this, can’t we Aurin?” Halle whispered to him in the dark.

In her mind she saw his reassuring smile, “Of course we can.”

  


The next day Halle found herself once more waiting, “for treatment”, with the other female recruits. When it came to her turn she was led into what appeared to be a pre-op room. The doctor from yesterday was gowned up for surgery. She looked at Halle’s file.

“No, this is the one who will have to wait.”

“You can dress again. You’ll have to stay with the district 2 unit. Not ideal, but you will still be supervised.”

Halle had convinced herself during the night that she couldn’t be pregnant. She had been preparing for the loss of her womb, focussing on how she was going to fight on for the rebellion as a Peacekeeper. 

“I’m pregnant?” She still wasn’t sure.

“Yes, the baby should be born in July. You’ll stay here in 2 until then.”

“Can I see my family?”

“That’s not a medical matter, you’ll need to see the unit commander.”

Halle was directed to join a unit practicing drill; marching, turning, drawing their weapons in perfect time. It reminded Halle of the shoals of fish she had seen in the ocean in District 4.

The rebel units had never trained in this way. The rebels practiced shooting, hand to hand combat, using explosives. Individual initiative was valued more than an ability to stay in line. They had to take risks constantly or they would never have stood a chance against the Capitol.

The drill required more concentration and effort than she had realised though, and she found she hadn’t been able to think properly about the baby growing inside her, Aurin , or how they were going to keep the resistance going. 

At the end of the day she planned to sit on her own in the canteen, but was surprised to find Catrina joining her.

“You’re still here in District 2!”

“Yes, looks like we got lucky,” Catrina replied. Halle couldn’t help but notice that she seemed much happier today.

“Did they operate on you?”

“No. I’m too young. I’ve been picked out for specialist training instead.” Catrina was practically puffing her chest out with pride.

“Wow, good for you,” Halle congratulated Catrina as the younger girl was clearly pleased, but inside she frowned at how easily Catrina seemed to have changed her allegiance.

  


Halle felt like she spent the next 4 months marching. She was put in with which ever squad was practicing drill every day, until eventually she was given the title of drill sergeant and watched over as she gave the orders. She felt a slight power rush as she barked commands at the obedient capitol forces, but then she realised the commanders were just playing with her. She had no power at all.

The baby’s progress was monitored closely by the Capitol doctor. None of her questions were answered, but she was told it was growing just as it should and appeared healthy.

Halle hadn’t made any friends amongst the Peacekeepers, she didn’t know how she was going to do it, but her plan was still to leave. She talked to the baby and Aurin in her head, and sometimes Catrina would appear in the canteen at mealtimes.

As Halle’s physique softened with pregnancy hormones, Catrina appeared more muscular every time Halle saw her.

“You’re looking really pumped,” she couldn’t help but commenting one day. The weather was improving and Catrina was wearing a T-shirt. Her biceps bulged under the sleeves.

Catrina looked pleased and flexed her arms. “I know; I could beat any of my brothers in a wrestling match now.”

“You’re enjoying the training?” Halle asked.

Catrina gave a broad grin, “They say I am the best they’ve ever seen.”

“What are you training for?

“That’s classified information Halle,” she took a slightly superior tone at this.

As she stared down at Halle, the younger girl took in her more womanly figure.

“So you’re a drill sergeant now.”

“Yes”, Halle replied, pretending to be pleased for Catrina’s benefit. “I know all the drills by heart”.

“They don’t ever send you out to patrol the district?”

“I don’t think I’m trusted.”

“No, I don’t think we could trust you,” Catrina replied.

Halle nearly choked on her meat.

  


The next morning Halle had her 24 week check up. She stayed quiet and compliant as a nurse gave her a vitamin shot, then lay on the couch waiting for the doctor to arrive.

Halle hadn’t expected the Unit Commander to be accompanying the doctor.

The months of drill had sunk into her subconscious and she quickly got off the couch to stand to attention.

“At ease Peacekeeper, “he replied, gesturing for Halle to sit down.

Halle was on alert at this change in procedure. She crossed her arms protectively across her swelling belly. 

“We’re pleased with you Sergeant Stone,” the Commanders praise did not reach his eyes as he shadowed over her. “Reports have been filed indicating there have been no concerns raised about your assimilation to our force. You have wisely chosen to keep your fertile status to yourself. But soon it will become noticeable.  
We’re stationing you in the mountains until it’s time for the baby to be delivered. Corporal Blade will accompany you. You’ll leave immediately.”

Halle waited for something more, but it was clear she was dismissed. She stood to attention, saluted and turned neatly, marching herself out the room.

Corporal Blade was a female peacekeeper from the Capitol. Probably in her 40’s, she had stayed lean and fit with sinewy muscles. Her hair was shaved as was all the peacekeepers, male and female. Halle’s only interactions with her had been to follow her orders.

They sat opposite each other on the train up to the mountains, both of them staring out of the window at the changing scenery. It would take a couple of hours to get up from the District square to the Peacekeeper’s mountain base.

Halle started to recognise the colours in the rocks, the places where the goats would hang out, the streams and meadows she had grown up around. Her spirit had been dampened down over the past few months, but she could feel herself stirring inside. Memories of the girl she had been tumbled into her mind. 

“This is where you grew up?” Corporal Blade broke the silence between them.

Halle couldn’t help but smile as she nodded. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

Blade looked out the window again, “I always lived in the city before joining the Peacekeepers. I guess you tend to like what you know best.” 

Halle felt freed up to talk. “Have you been posted up here before?” 

“No, I was recruited into the army when the war started. I’d been fighting in 7 and 8 mostly, before the Peace.”

The fact that they were on opposing sides hung in the air. Halle tried to think of something to say quickly, before this became awkward. 

“There’s more to do in the mountains than you might think.”

“I’m here to watch you, Peacekeeper. And we’ve to drill the crap out of these mountain guards, word is they’ve been getting lazy up here. We’re going to remind them how to follow orders.” She was clearly looking forward to this.

They arrived at the mountain camp in the late afternoon sunshine. The peacekeepers were now based within the mountain Halle had known as a child. It dominated the landscape around here and had always been a comforting sight. The immovable mountain, always the same, no matter what else was changing. It didn’t sit well with Halle to see the stores of weapons and Capitol hovercraft that were being gathered within the hollowed out mine shafts deep below the mountain. Her mind started working on the conundrum of how to destroy the Capitols armoury without destroying the Mountain. It was impossible, but for the first time Halle felt like there were possibilities for her to carry on as the rebel she was meant to be. She longed to be able to tell Aurin about this place. But thinking of a way to communicate with him was turning out to be an even bigger puzzle. She just had to believe he was still alive. She was sure she would have felt something if he had died. He would find her, he always had before: 

The rebels had been fighting in District 3, trying to gain control of the main lab in the district. A lot of the techs were still in there. Brains were the real resource of district 3, and some of these people were too engrossed in their science to care who they were working for. It went against most of the rebels’ moral code, but orders were just to capture the techs and persuade them of their arguments at a later date. Halle wasn’t used to taking bystanders as prisoners. She tried to explain what was going on as she tackled a man weighing at least twice her weight to the ground. Having a political debate whilst trying to cuff him had distracted her from her surroundings leaving her vulnerable. It felt like she was hit from behind and then she blacked out. 

Smoke and heat filled her lungs. Her eyes were stinging. She tried to keep down below the rising toxic air, but was too disorientated and drowsy to work out which way to go. Her unit had gone. There were sounds of the building starting to collapse; the rebels would have planted explosives as they left. She pushed herself up to breathe in the deadly fumes. It would be better to be unconscious before the fire came. 

“Halle” 

She was confused by hearing her name called, thought it was her mind playing tricks. But Aurin had come back for her. Placing a damp rag over her face for her to breathe through, he lifted her onto his shoulder and carried her through the burning building. Out on the street the air was cleaner but it was still a chaos of smoke and sirens. They had hidden in a cellar for two days, waiting for the capitol forces to leave before finding the way back to their unit. 

As the dust settled over the streets of district 3, Aurin had nervously confessed that she meant so much more to him than a comrade.

Halle wrapped her arms around their baby. It was starting to feel real now. She had been noticing a shifting feeling as the baby moved around. She liked it.

  


Halle and Blade soon found a comfortable working partnership as they put the guards at the mountain camp through their paces. A large Unit of Peacekeepers was always stationed here and there were also the many guards who passed through, accompanying shipments of weapons to and from other districts. Drill was used to maintain discipline and unity amongst the different units. Wherever in Panem a peacekeeper was stationed they would all respond to Halle’s commands in the same way.

Halle knew Blade was observing her at all times. They both understood the situation, but they also respected each other. Sharing mealtimes and sleeping quarters did not prove to be too hard after all.

Having reached her last trimester, the baby was growing fast now and it was hard for Halle to get comfortable to sleep. Blade gave her her pillows and showed her how to use them to give added support to the baby bump.

“Thank you,” Halle felt almost mothered by the hard muscled soldier. It occurred to her that this tip with the pillows wasn’t something most Peacekeepers would know.

“You have children?”

Blade sat on her bed with a thud before replying. “A son. He’s not a child anymore though.”

Blade wasn’t usually very forthcoming, but the darkness seemed to draw the two women together. As she lay back on her bed, now pillowless, she told Halle her story. 

“The capitol is an exciting place to live. There’s always so much going on, different things to try, new sensations. But you still have to pay.” 

”My son was an artist; he created the most amazing sculptures. Large scale forms were his thing, made out of metal and glass welded and fired together. When he was engrossed in his work he wouldn’t stop for days and nights at a time, so of course he started using stimulants to keep him up. And that was o.k. He maybe went a little crazy at times, but that’s how it is in the capitol. But then he started using morphling. That wasn’t creative. He disappeared inside himself. But he was hooked, and it became all he wanted. More than food, more than art, definitely more than anything I could offer. Apart from paying for his habit of course, he still needed me for that. But it became just too much for us to afford. So, to clear his debt, he had to sign up for the fight against the rebels.” 

She shrugged. “If you met him you’d know, he was never going to manage the army. So I joined in his place.” 

Halle didn’t know what to say. Blade wasn’t the sort of person you could offer sympathy to.

“He’s stopped using the morphling though?”

Blade snorted, “I very much doubt it.”

She rolled over onto her side to face the wall away from Halle, “I think I make a better soldier than a mother anyway.”

  


Halle stirred in the dawn light to see Blade was up and going out for one of her runs. Halle herself felt achy and tired as though she had already done a workout. She closed her eyes and slipped back to sleep.

“PEACEKEEPER STONE!” Halle was woken by the corporal’s screech attacking her ears.

“You’re physiological condition is no excuse for tardiness. We start in 5 minutes. There will be a uniform and kit check for all Peacekeepers. This includes you.”

Halle’s head swum and her vision became hazy as she sat up, but there was no time to let her body adjust. No time for eating either, though she felt like the morning sickness had come back. She hadn’t expected that at this stage. 

Blade was a woman on a mission. The slightest piece of kit not laid out at right angles, anything less than a perfect shine on a buckle or boot had the peacekeeper doing an uphill march, spiralling around the mountain.

When she came to inspect Halle, it became very clear that any blurring of boundaries her disclosure might have caused was being put straight.

“You need to remember that your pregnancy means nothing compared to the honour of wearing your uniform. What is your priority Peacekeeper?” she bawled at her.

“Maintaining Peace in Panem, Corporal Blade,” Halle stood to attention and shouted back the correct rote response.

“You are a disgrace to the force, Stone. Now march the route. I will be timing you, anything more than 30 minutes, you will do it again.”

Halle pushed herself on, determined to prove her strength, but after 20 minutes she was struggling. She doubled over as a sharp pain shot through her stomach. She hadn’t eaten yet but she needed to be sick. Nothing would come up but bile. Her hands rested on her abdomen willing the baby to kick, but there was nothing.

“Don’t panic,” she tried to get herself back under control. “You felt it just before, you just need to rest.”

She managed to straighten up and push herself on.

“You are a disgrace to the name of Peacekeeper, Stone,” Blade had caught her up. “How can you be a drill sergeant and march like that. I am hereby demoting you back to the ranks. Now MARCH.” she screamed down Halle’s ear. 

Halle set out to march but her legs went from under her as she fainted. 

Blade called two other peacekeepers to accompany her back to her quarters, and left her. There would be no more accidental mothering coming her way.

The medic at the Mountain base, unsurprisingly, had no experience of pregnancy. Halle lay on her bed, heaving into a bowl, feeling desperate and alone. 

She must have drifted into a delirious sleep as she was woken by a guard accompanying a small woman in civilian dress. Halle recognised her, it was Deeta the Healer from the villages. Halle wasn’t quite sure if this was a dream, everything had a slightly foggy edge to it. 

Deeta examined Halle with her sure hands; pressing and feeling her all over in a reassuringly thorough way. She listened in to her back and her belly, just by placing her head against Halle’s skin rather than putting any instrument between them. Finally she soothed Halle’s forehead, where there should have been hair to brush back.

“ I recognise you, girl, from the village. Now, tell me how’d you get yourself in this situation?”

Halle could feel her chin wobbling. The sound of Deeta’s mountain accent brought images of home with it.

The question was too big to start answering.

“I don’t know.” 

“You were forced?” 

She realised Deeta was mostly asking about the baby.

” No; no, not at all. But, he’s from District 1. He doesn’t even know. I’m not allowed to try to contact any other districts, with fighting for the rebels and all. We’re forgiven, but, you know…not trusted.”

“Is the baby ok. What made me faint?” 

Suddenly, Halle felt so cold, her teeth started chattering.

“The baby seems fine. You’ve got a water infection and you’re dehydrated. Nothing we can’t sort out. You get drinking, just small sips so you keep it down, I’ll just have to go and fetch my remedy from home. I’ll be back in the morning.

Halle squeezed hold of the healer’s hand, wishing she could go with her instead of waiting here with the enemy. 

“Please, let my family know you saw me.”

“Of course”, she nodded but then left without any more fuss or sign of affection. Blade had returned to the room.

Halle spent a long confusing night drifting in and out of dreams where Blade was injecting her with morphling and the baby was ordering her to march double time to District 1. 

It was past noon when Deeta returned. She started by examining Halle again.

“So you ran off to join the rebels and came back as a peacekeeper!”

“A pregnant peacekeeper; they haven’t quite got me in line yet,” Halle smiled.

“What’s going to happen to the baby, when it’s born? “Deeta finally raised the question Halle was trying to avoid.

“ I don’t know.” She paused. “I presume he or she will have to be sent back to my family to raise.”

She could feel the heartbreak starting inside. She wouldn’t be able to keep her child with her as a peacekeeper.

Deeta squeezed her hand again.

“We’re strong people, here in district 2.” She reached down into her healer’s bag. 

“Your mother gave me something for you. One of the district 2 peacekeepers had passed through the village with his unit. He’d been stationed in District 1 for a while. He brought this back with him.” She pressed a tarnished brooch into Halle’s hand.

Halle stared at the image of the mockingjay set in gold.

“They have some fine craftsmen in 1,” Deeta commented softly.

Halle clasped the brooch into her fist. Closing her eyes she held it up to her lips. Aurin had made this. The emotion spilled over in silent tears, shaking her body. There were no words for this. He had sent her a mockingjay! Their sign. The mockingbirds could tame the capitol mutts. They could still reach each other.

Deeta quickly shifted into business mode, giving Halle a dose of a sour liquid that she would have to take three times a day for three days. She was sure Halle would recover from the infection and didn’t think she would be back to see her again. She wished her good luck, and left her to her chances with the Peacekeepers.

But Halle felt like a different person now she’d received this sign from Aurin. She had to fight on. 

“What am I doing, still here in this uniform?” she looked down at herself the next morning. The remedy had worked quickly to relieve the fever and she was back on duty already, though she was now to join the ranks of marching guards instead of giving orders. Demotion meant nothing to her, and she realised this would work in her favour. She was now much less visible, just another white uniformed body amongst the masses. After all these months of constant drilling, Halle also found she could use the front of her mind to think her own thoughts whilst her body automatically followed the commands. She couldn’t stay here another day. She was angry with herself for not seeing it before. This was the perfect situation for her to escape. She knew this territory better than anyone, there were so many hidden caves she knew she could use. She could get help from the villagers; even though they hadn’t joined the rebels, she was sure they would sympathise. They could start with small attacks on this Mountain station to instil fear and unrest. Word would get out that the resistance was not defeated. 

Filled with adrenaline she woke early the next day, ready to make her escape. Blade was sitting on the bed opposite, dressed in her uniform. She was turning the mockingjay pin over in her hands.

“Where did you get this?”

The truth seemed the most straightforward option. 

“My mother sent it with the healer. You can’t blame her for letting my family know she’d seen me.” 

“Fine workmanship,” Blade was turning it over in her hands. “You don’t see pieces like this outside the capitol. The goldsmith has made it all in one mold, see? No soldering . It’s unusual subject matter for jewellery; a Mockingjay. Not our greatest moment.” Her eyes met Halle’s accusingly.

“It’s not suitable for a peacekeeper to have this. It will be sent back to command.” 

“No!” Halle couldn’t bear it. “That’s all I have from my family.”

“You need to toughen up Stone. None of us Peacekeepers have family now, Capitol or District 2; it’s the same for us all. Your unit is your family. You need to start accepting it. Suck those feelings in. Turn them into anger. “

Blade meant this sincerely. She wasn’t threatening Halle; she was actually trying to help her.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’re up early. They’ve decided it’s better to get that baby out before there’s any more complications.”

Halle was confused.

”You’re being sent to back to the district centre. They will operate to remove the child; it’s old enough to survive without you now.” 

“It can’t even breathe on its own yet. What are you talking about?”

“They have machines to help the infant, Halle. You must have known it wasn’t yours to keep?“ 

“Children are scarce in the Capitol, who wants to bother having children when there’s so many other distractions; and the districts will provide for your old age. But the population is falling, so the president has decided every couple must at least have one child. Those with enough money may prefer to purchase a child, saves them the hardship on their beautiful body’s.” She coughed self consciously, aware that she was sounding cynical.

That baby you are carrying has someone else’s name on it already, and they want it safe with them in the capitol, not in some infected Peacekeeper out in the middle of nowhere. You’re going now, I’ve packed for you.” She passed Halle her regulation pack.

Blade escorted Halle to a private car with blacked out windows. She wouldn’t be going on the train this time. The doors locked loudly as soon as she was inside. There was to be no escape.

The corporal stood and saluted her as the car accelerated away.

Halle was treated like a prisoner from the moment they arrived at the District 2 hospital. She was cuffed to a guard, even whilst she changed into a gown.

The capitol doctor examined her and scanned the baby. 

“It’s time.”

The panic rose in Halle’s throat but before she could scream a mask was placed over her face. She tried to fight it but the anaesthetic took its hold, stealing her consciousness.

Halle came to as more drugs were pushed into her vein, but refused to open her eyes. She didn’t want to wake up. She knew her baby was gone. Her arms were pinned down preventing her from acting on her instinctive desire to feel her belly, to touch the place where her child had lived. And then she realised that even that had been taken from her. A peacekeeper didn’t need a womb. 

Once the tears started there was no stopping the flood.

A week later Halle lay on her bed, on the top floor of the hospital. The restraints were no longer needed as she was held down by her grief. Her hormones had prepared her for a baby, her breasts were tender with milk to feed a hungry infant, but her arms had nothing to hold. The capitol doctors had gone and she had been left to the care of nurses from her own district. 

She had been allowed a bed next to the window, and looked out at the sky. The mountains of her village were visible in the distance. This was as close as she would ever get to home again. She knew this in her bones. Two birds crossed her line of sight, racing through the windless air, out towards the Mountain. They could be there before the sun went down. 

“Halle,” one of the nurses touched her gently on the shoulder.

”I’m sorry, but you have to come to watch the reaping with us. It’s mandatory viewing.” 

”The reaping?” 

”They’re choosing the tributes, for the Hunger Games.” 

Halle followed them to the nurses office, where a television set was flashing.

The reaping started in District 1. This managed to raise a small spark of interest in Halle. She had never seen Aurin’s district. A crowd of children stood in the square. Their names in a glass bowl. The first name was picked by a capitol TV presenter type, wearing ridiculously inappropriate clothes for such a solemn occasion. 

“Star Peltz”

The camera panned over to a tall, thin, youth, barely old enough for hair to grow on his chin. His head dropped to his chest for a moment, but then he lifted his eyes to the stage and walked forward, pushing his chest out.

Halle felt proud of him for not showing any fear. “They haven’t beaten us yet,” she whispered to him. 

The next name was called. 

“Shimmer Sheen.”

Halle immediately sat upright. Aurin had talked about his sisters, Radiance and Shimmer.

Shimmer was a beautiful young lady. She moved with poise as she made her way to the stage but she couldn’t hide her fear; her cheeks were wet with tears.

Halle’s heart skipped as the camera swept across the reaction of the faces in the crowd.

Just for a couple of seconds, there was Aurin; washed and handsome, with a look of such rage on his face. She longed to be able to touch him. He didn’t even know how much they had taken from him. 

District 2 was next. Halle realised this was going on just metres away in the district square, a few blocks from the hospital. Children had been brought down from the mountains to join the pageant. Music was playing and bunting had been put up. They seemed to be trying to create a party atmosphere.

The first name was drawn.

“Catrina Slater” 

A cheer went up from the crowd, and Catrina bounded on to the stage. 

“ I just love your patriotic spirit here in District 2,” fawned the man from the Capitol. 

Catrina indicated she would like to speak into the microphone, “I just wanted to say how truly honoured I am to be taking part in these very first games. And I’d like to thank our President for giving me this opportunity to go out there and win for the glory of my District.” 


	4. In The House of Andronicus Creador

In the House of Andronicus Creador

“Every time, Calista. E-ve-ry-time,” Andronicus Creador growled. His fingers spread shaking in front of him, as if being held back from grabbing his young wife’s neck. 

“Every time I have a chance to make something more of myself, you have to bring your own drama in to it.”

“It’s not always about you Andronicus,” she stressed back at him, ineffectually bobbing the baby in her arms. “The District 2 girl wasn’t coping with the pregnancy and being a peacekeeper. We had to take our little princess now.”

The little princess screamed as hard as her two week old lungs would allow, which wasn’t all that loud really, but the pitch went straight to Creador’s teeth.

“Anyway, it’s perfect timing to show Panem what an all round good citizen you are. We’ll look just adorable in the background supporting you. “

He had to admit this was true; the president would be pleased that his head gamemaker was setting such a good example to the citizens of the Capitol.

“If you could just stop her screaming? I can’t think with that noise in my head. Why don’t you get Radiance to take her?” 

“You did promise me a nanny”, Calista pouted.

“I know Calista my darling, but I just can’t cope with another stranger in this household at the moment. I’m sure Radiance could take care of the baby.”

Calista didn’t really want her husband to crack up right now, so she called for Radiance.

“We’re going to need you to help with the baby, Radiance. As you know Andronicus is very busy with the Hunger Games, so we haven’t been able to appoint a nanny yet.” She passed her child over to Radiance who instinctively held the little girl close to her chest and rocked her gently, making soothing noises.

“What’s her name?” 

Calista gave a deep sigh, “It’s been such a trial for Andronicus and I, trying to come up with a name we both agree on. Honestly, people have no idea how tough being a parent really is. We’re thinking of having a competition to name her actually. It could be a bit of side interest, if the hunger games have a slow day. What do you think?”

What Radiance thought would never be spoken aloud in this house.

She looked at the innocent baby girl, now settling to sleep in her arms. 

“I’ll look after her for you,” she replied obediently, avoiding the more controversial subject of televised competitions.

Calista smiled at the young woman. 

“You look perfect holding a baby actually,” she stroked her hair from her face and leaned in to take a kiss from her mouth.

“You mustn’t neglect me though, Radiance, I’ll still need you.” She ran her fingers down over Radiance’s cheek brushing her thumb over her lips.

”Go on then, take her upstairs and keep her quiet. We’ve got the president coming this afternoon. Maybe Andronicus has a point; I do seem to like to keep him on his toes! But life could get so boring otherwise, don’t you think? “

Radiance answered with her standard smile. Boring sounded pretty appealing to her right now.

She took the infant as far away from the Creador’s as she could, up to the garden on the roof of their penthouse apartment. 

It had been a hot day in the capitol. On the streets below, the citizens were gathering around the fountains to feel the cooling spray on their skin. The Hunger Games would be the hot topic of conversation. Excitement was brewing now the tributes had been chosen and bets could be placed. She could see the tower of the tributes training centre on the skyline, just a few blocks away. Her sister was there now, tantalisingly close, but she had only been able to watch her on the screen like the rest of Panem. Radiance wasn’t sure if the Game maker and his wife had realised Shimmer was her sister. They hadn’t mentioned it, but they seemed to have some sort of empathy blockage when it came to anyone from the Districts. She still couldn’t quite take in what they were planning for her.

“Oh baby girl,” Radiance whispered, “These people will never be satisfied.”

She was sound asleep now, so Radiance took her to the nursery that had been set up, to settle her in her cot. As soon as her arms loosened the little girl started to whimper. Her little bottom lip quivering reminded her so much of Shimmer, she just couldn’t take it. She gathered her back up into her chest. 

“I can see you’re going to be just like my sister, always get your own way.” But her attempt at normality finally set off her tears. Shimmer had always been the slightly spoiled youngest child. People gave in to her because she was so sweet they didn’t want her to be upset. She wouldn’t have any idea how to fight for her life.

Radiance and the baby cried together for everything that was wrong in their world.

Eventually, Radiance pulled herself back together. Red eyes and blotchy skin would not be tolerated in this household. And someone else needed her now. The baby was mouthing at her. Radiance’s heart went out to who ever her mother was, knowing, as the baby tried to suckle, there was someone over in District 2 with a redundant ability to meet her needs. Radiance gave her little finger for the baby to suck as a stand in for what her mother could have offered. Shushing her, she crept down to the kitchen to see if anyone in this self-centred family had thought that the baby would need to be fed.

Amazingly there were bottles prepared. She sprinkled some milk on the sensitive skin under her wrist, just as she had seen women in District 1 do for their children. It was warm, not too hot. “Just right,” she cooed to the baby, dipping the teat to her mouth.

In the hallway beyond she could hear voices fussing; the cook came in looking stressed.

“The presidents’ car’s outside, he’s an hour early!”

He stopped Radiance as she started up to disappear to the nursery.

“You’ll have to stay in here now. Just keep that baby quiet. Creador is ready to snap as it is without having a screaming infant spoiling his vision of how things should be.”

Fortunately the milk appeared to be satisfying the child.

Radiance watched her guzzle the milk, listening to the cute sounds of satisfaction as she gulped. The murmuring of Creador and the president in the parlour next door became easier to make out as her ears accustomed to the low volume sounds.

The presidents voice was unmistakeable, even through a wall, “So, Creador, what stories are you going to give the people?”

Creador would be kissing butt like crazy in there.

“These are just my thoughts. I will change anything to suit you of course.”

“Of course.” 

”To start off, Mr President, we have our winner, District 2’s Catrina Slater, strong and young and loyal to the Capitol. ‘The rebel who saw the error of her ways.’ This shows how forgiving and merciful you are to those who are deserving.”

”I think we should have her kill the boy from her district, to emphasise that loyalty for Country is more powerful than district pride.” 

“Yes,” the president approved, “Nice touch, Creador.”

“I think the kids from 4 and 7 look up for a fight, so we’ll get some action and entertainment; there’s a pretty little thing from 8 who seems to have the cute factor, we’ll try to keep her going for a bit. And, of course, the girl from 1 is a real beauty, the camera just loves her.”

“Maybe don’t get Catrina to kill those two then, we don’t want any anti- Catrina feeling.” 

”We’ll arrange some sort of accident, poison the food source, trip wire; we’ve got plenty of options in the arena.” 

“Good, yes it was really a stroke of genius thinking up this sport to manage the districts,” the president congratulated himself smugly. “The girl from 1, she may be a beauty, but her brother was a rebel, and it appears he’s been attempting to make contact with old comrades in 2. We need to send him a clear message that we’re in control. Kill her off pretty quick, before the public get to know her, but make it violent.” 

Radiance was finding it hard to hold the bottle still for the baby. If she hadn’t had this vulnerable life in her hands she may well have just have upped and made a run for it. There was nothing she could do to save Shimmer now, but having to sit here and listen to the cold hearted way her death was being planned was like having shards of glass forced into her brain. She would never be able to unknow this now, every thought of Shimmer would bring her pain.

In the parlour, the president took the golden Mockingjay pin from his pocket.

“And send this back to the family with her coffin. Just to be sure they get the message. “

“Nice workmanship, is it by Sheen?” Creador admired the brooch.

“His son. Sheen died you know, before the rebellion”, the president couldn’t believe how clueless this man he was entrusting with his precious hunger games could be. They had just been discussing killing Shimmer Sheen.

“Shame, he was the best of course. I thought I hadn’t seen any of his work around recently but I presumed that was just because of the war.”

The president couldn’t play along with this nonsense any more.

”It’s a mockingjay,” He pointed out to Creador with ice in his voice.

Creador blushed as the penny finally dropped. “Damn,” he thought to himself, “I’ve messed up there.”

The president was getting ready to leave now, “That’s enough for this year.”

“I’ll make sure his sister suffers for his disloyalty, Mr President,” Creador was desperate to feel the president’s approval again.

“Good,” the president stood to round up the meeting, “So we have rewards for 2, a warning for 1, and some hope and fear for the others, and we’ll keep the capitol citizens entertained-make sure it’s a good show, Creador. I’m holding you personally responsible for this.” There was no feeling in his final handshake.

Creador was left feeling on edge, uncertain where he stood with the president. 

“We have a child now,” he burst out, as he accompanied the President to the door. “Calista bring the baby.”

His wife appeared on cue, and Radiance stepped out to smoothly pass the infant over, before disappearing back into the kitchen. The household was well practised at not keeping Creador waiting. The baby was sound asleep, having at last filled her tummy with milk.

“Good, good,” the president took in the image of Creador with his beautiful wife and child, “Yes, we need to make sure the capitol citizens remember their duty to maintain our population too.“

“Maybe I should have one?” he considered, “a boy though, an heir to carry on the dynasty, just like his father.” The corners of his mouth actually started to turn up.

Creador was buoyed up again by the president’s approval.

“We thought we could have a bit of side interest for the Capitol citizens alongside the hunger games, a competition to name her? In case the games get a bit too heavy.”

The president sneered at his foolish game maker. “There will be no need for any distraction from the games. All good citizens of Panem will be glued to their screens; I want them to cheer the slaughter of their district rivals. I thought you understood. But perhaps I am mistaken about you?”

“No, Sir” Creador quickly replied, “Of course, that was just a joke, in poor taste I know. I can assure you my focus is entirely on the Games. You can rely on me to get this right.”

The president dismissed him with a nod and left with no further ceremony.

Creador’s knees hit the tiled floor of the hallway and he covered his head with his arms, as though he could pull a hard shell over his soft parts. But it was too late, he had already been been torn by the president’s talons.

Calista silently handed the baby back over to Radiance; for once she remained tight lipped. The innocent child grizzled in her sleep, unaware of the danger she could be in.

Radiance, slipped into the kitchen to collect some more bottles of feed before heading for the nursery and locking the door behind her. Ever so carefully, she placed her charge in her crib and settled herself on the small settee to keep guard.

  


She was woken in the early hours by a quiet but insistent knocking. 

“It’s me,” Calista whispered, “please let me in.”

Obediently, Radiance turned the lock.

She had known what to expect, but it still shocked her to see Calista’s beaten face. Her eyes were both blackened with bruising, her lip cut open. Radiance held her as she wept.

Her mistress was still in her early 20’s. The marriage to Creador had been arranged by Calista’s parents. He had been taken by her beauty, her perfect figure, but had never bothered to get to know her as a person. She had been flattered and excited at the prospect of marriage to this upcoming media personality. Within a month they knew it had been a mistake, but they were the hottest couple in the Capitol and that mattered too much to them both. Creador consented to Calista’s request for a female playmate to stop her having any more scandalous affairs. He had watched them once but it turned out sex wasn’t really his thing. He was more into power. He had no interest in Radiance as a paid servant, preferring the challenge of maintaining control over Calista, who was, in theory, free to go.

As the months and years went by Calista relied more and more on Radiance for comfort and support. And Radiance couldn’t help caring for her victimised employer. The whole thing was as messed up as everything in the Capitol seemed to be.

Calista winced as Radiance unknowingly pressed on a fresh bruise on her arm.

“Let me see.”

She pulled her robe off her shoulder to expose the finger-marks pressed into her skin where he had lifted her off the floor and shaken her before throwing her at the door.

Radiance stroked them with the back of her hand as if she could rub them away.

“I knew it would be bad.”

“I’m worried this whole hunger games thing is going to be hard on us,” Calista replied.

Radiance tensed. Calista was right; she was likely going to have to bear the brunt of Creador’s stress over the coming weeks. But what about the children in the arena? How hard was this going to be on the children who had no choice in their life or death?

“Did you know my sister was picked as the tribute for 1?” She couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

“Oh… No, I had no idea.” The idea of a tribute as a person with a family was a whole new concept for Calista. “I’m sorry.”

She hugged Radiance close to comfort her in return, before spoiling it with her words. “I think it will be good for the stability of the country though.”

Radiance pushed away from her.

“You are a brainwashed bimbo.”

Calista was left opened mouthed, “You can’t say that!”

“I know! You should probably fire me for insubordination or something.” 

Calista tried to work it out for a minute but it was all too much effort.

She looked at the baby sleeping in her cot, oblivious to the trouble that surrounded her. For the first time she felt something for her, not enough to recognise what it was, but she knew that the baby couldn’t be punished for being here. That was all her doing. 

“It’s what a friend would tell you though,” Radiance added.” I’ll go and run you a bath.”

Calista was left alone with her daughter for the first time.

“Mummy and Radiance will look after you,” she promised. She searched the drawers for a tube of her ‘magic cream’ that she kept in most rooms. The bruising should be gone by show-time tomorrow. “We are going to look fabulous for Daddy.”

Radiance snuck back in the room with hardly a noise. “Your bath’s ready.”

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “Radiance, would you stay with me, if we weren’t paying for you?”

Radiance shook her head. “Oh Calista, of course not. I don’t want to be part of this.”

“But sometimes, when we’re together, I know you enjoy it too.”

“Yes, that’s true. But…”

Calista’s face lifted, “I knew it; I am good in bed.”

Radiance snorted. “But Calista, I was scared at first. Are you good in bed? I don’t know; I don’t have anything to compare you with. You’ve never been rough and you like to make me feel good. But what if I really hadn’t been able to let you use me in that way. What would have happened to me then?”

Calista hung her head; she couldn’t make eye contact as she spoke to her ‘maid’.

“Radiance, I don’t think I could survive without you now.” Her eyes were glistening, “But, I’ll try to grow up and be stronger. One day, I will let you go, I promise.”

“O.K.” Radiance wouldn’t put too much faith in what Calista said at a time like this. “Go on, go and get yourself ‘magicked’.”

In the crib the baby was mouthing at a dream teat. She went to warm up a bottle, “we’re going to have to keep you well fed aren’t we?” She was going to have to learn to be the most placid, invisible child in Panem, to survive Creador as a father. 

An hour or so later Calista returned already looking 80% back to normal. The medicines available in the capitol were amazing. The cuts had sealed together and the bruising was already at the brown and yellow stage. 

She squeezed herself onto the small settee where Radiance was feeding the baby. 

“I need to give her a name so we can try to pretend the whole naming competition thing never happened. Have you got any ideas?”

“Would you let her have something from district 2?”

Calista shook her head. “I would love to, but I daren’t try anything even slightly controversial at the moment. It’s got to be something the President would approve of.” 

“Something meaning peace then. He couldn’t complain about that.” 

Calista girlishly clapped her hands at this.

“Is it alright if I put my arms around you?” She had never asked Radiance explicitly for permission to touch her before.

“Yes,” Radiance whispered, “that’s ok, but don’t disturb her feeding.”

Calista wrapped her arms around the younger woman’s waist and leaned her head on her shoulder.

There was a moment of calm and quiet as they watched the baby together.

At last Calista came up with something, “Columbine- it means bird of peace, and they’re a pretty flower too. What do you think? Columbine Creador.” 

“Nice. Let’s stick with that.” 

“Can I try feeding her?” 

Radiance looked up at Calista. “She’s your baby.”

“She isn’t though is she? Neither of you belong to me.”

“Well, that’s true. But you’ve brought us here, so, you need to look after us properly.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Radiance thought for a moment, before placing her lips softly on Calista’s mouth for a few seconds.

“Not now. But I’ll give you that one for free.”

She passed Columbine over to her adoptive mother. “Just hold the bottle up for her so the milk runs, but not too fast. She’s a good feeder, it’s very satisfying actually watching her take her milk.”

She got up. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

As she climbed into her bed the light was already shifting from night to dawn. She wondered what Shimmer would be doing with her last day. Tonight the Tributes were to be interviewed on television to give the public a chance to get to know them and choose their favourites. Tomorrow, she would be in the arena. 

“Kill her off quick, before the public get to know her, but make it violent.”

“I’ll make sure his sister suffers”

She couldn’t unhear the words.

  


Radiance stayed out of the way with Columbine all day until the baby was needed to go with the Creadors to appear at the Tributes interview show. Once they were gone she went up to the roof. There was no way she would be watching. She didn’t want any memories of her sister tampered with by the capitol. Instead she chose to try to remember everything she could about her sister, from the day she was born, until the day she had to leave Shimmer and her mother behind, to work for the Creadors. Wasn’t that supposed to have been payment for her brother’s disloyalty? Wasn’t she sacrifice enough? Then she remembered the president saying that Aurin had made a mockingjay, a symbol of rebellion to send to District 2. She knew Aurin was doing what he believed in, but she couldn’t help feeling some anger towards him for what had happened to Shimmer and herself.

“Maybe it would be better to just leave things as they are.”

She realised she was nearly quoting the president. She had to forgive Aurin or he would succeed in completely tearing her family apart. 

  


In district 1, a peacekeeper escorted Aurin from his house to the screen in the square. Last night he had watched Shimmer speak quietly about her love of beautiful things. They had made her glow with whatever makeup tricks they used. She was dressed in gold of course, as the goldsmith’s daughter. It highlighted her beauty to breath taking perfection. 

Today she stood trembling on the starting block as the voice over counted down from 10 to 1. 

As she stepped off the block she tripped over a ridge in the earth. She pushed up as quickly as she could but it was too late to run. She had been positioned between two tributes from 7 with bulging foresters’ arms and axes from the bags of weapons placed conveniently nearby, already in their hands. Aurin forced himself not to look away. He had to go through this with her as much as he could. He had to suffer with her. One axe hit her directly in the chest, the other in her back. A camera panned in to get a close up of her beautiful face, “Our first fallen tribute, Shimmer, the Golden Girl from District 1. Her people should be very proud of her; she represented a district known for its beautiful things perfectly.” 

The camera went back to follow the action elsewhere.

“Just look at Catrina go!”

  


Calista knocked on Radiance’s door. 

“Already?”

The hunger games would have started just minutes ago. Calista hadn’t forced the issue about watching. Ironically, Radiance was actually in one of the very few houses in Panem where mandatory viewing was not always enforced if the master was not at home. Most Capitol citizens would be watching out of choice. Who would want to be left out of the latest trend?

“I’m so, so sorry Radiance. Calista held her hands out for her to take, “It was very quick, she…”

“Don’t you dare say she didn’t suffer”, Radiance spoke in a low voice. “She has been suffering every day since your husband announced this game.”

“You’re right. It is too cruel.” Calista wound her fingers more tightly into Radiances grasp.

“I want to be here for you Radiance.”

Radiance pulled her hands free; she didn’t want Calista to comfort her. Her sister was dead, murdered in cold blood, for sport. People had been betting on her chances of survival. 

“Why aren’t I crying?”

She couldn’t recognise any feeling at all.

“What’s happened to me? My sister is dead and I’m not even crying?”

“It’s O.K. , it’s normal not to cry straight away. It takes time for something like this to sink in.” Calista was desperate to help.

“It’s not normal, it’s not O.K.” At last Radiance felt something; the anger unwound from the tight ball in her chest. In that moment it was all Calista’s fault.

“It’s you. You’ve done this to me; you’ve made my heart as cold as yours. You’ve taken everything from me,” Radiance had raised herself from her seat to face Calista. She pushed her chest, making her step back.

“Why did I ever care about you? You don’t even know what real feelings are.”

Calista waited for the blow that was sure to come. 

Radiance felt her hand balling up into a fist as she looked at Calista’s passive face. The yellow marks were just still visible on her cheek. It stopped her in her tracks.

“Just leave me alone,” she screamed, “Don’t do this to me as well, don’t make me like him.” She folded her arms around herself and sat down again, refusing to look at Calista. She continued to stare at the floor long after she heard the door close. Still no tears came.

The problem was she didn’t really believe that Shimmer was dead. Perhaps it had been a mistake not watching. But she wasn’t ready to feel the pain that would come with seeing what her sister had been through. She hadn’t even got over the pain of saying goodbye to her over 2 years ago. She couldn’t really picture what she would have looked like now, at 15. There was too much still to know about her life to start thinking about letting her go.

She didn’t move for several hours, until Calista knocked on her door again in the evening.

“I brought Columbine to say goodnight.” Radiance didn’t respond but Calista placed the baby in her arms nonetheless.

She couldn’t help looking at the sleeping child. “She looks like Shimmer did, as a baby you know.” It was something about her mouth. And her elegant fingers; they reminded her of Aurin too. At last she cried a few tears. Not enough for what had happened to Shimmer, she wasn’t quite there yet. But she cried because she missed her family, she felt lost and alone and far away from everything that used to be.

“Would you like her to stay here with you tonight? I can bring her crib through.”

She couldn’t be bothered to reply. Eventually, Calista took the decision herself to go and fetch the basket crib. It was an unusual sight, Calista carrying something that wasn’t just for ornamental purposes. She put it next to Radiance’s bed and waited again for some response.

Radiance just continued to watch the baby. She thought Calista had gone for the night when she left again, so she carefully placed Columbine into her crib managing not to wake her this time. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth and began to rock herself gently as if she were the baby.

She was caught out by Calista actually remembering to bring Columbine’s bottle and nappies, and looked up to her face as she came back in the room. She hadn’t wanted to let Calista in, but once they had made eye contact it was too late.

Calista was learning fast under pressure. She wanted to hold Radiance, to use her body to sooth her, but was starting to understand that what she wanted maybe wasn’t what Radiance wanted.

“I’ll sleep in the nursery. Just bring her back if she’s too demanding. I thought you wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, and I didn’t think you should be alone.”

She was going to carry on telling her how sorry she was and how horrified she had been by seeing the hunger games once she had realised Shimmer was her sister. But she even managed to keep this to herself for once. 

She left it at, “I am here for you, if you need me,” before closing the door behind her.

  


Radiance remained in a state of shock for the duration of the Hunger Games. With Calista’s support she managed to care for Columbine, but she felt like everything was far away somehow. 

There were several days when Calista’s face was marked with yellow, but she didn’t disturb Radiance when her wounds were fresh. Eventually, she managed to warn Creador that if he kept doing this the marks would show through her make up under the TV lights. So he learned to avoid hitting her on her face. 

He wasn’t coping with the pressure of making sure the Hunger Games went to plan. The President had overestimated the amount of control that could be maintained once the tributes were in the Arena. Thank goodness he’d killed Shimmer Sheen off straight away. He had been informed the President was pleased with the way this had been done. But one of the District 7 tributes had also nearly killed Catrina too. After 10 days he decided they would have to take some action to hurry things on before she died of her infected wound. Cameras were switched off whilst he had explosives planted at strategic points. It was a learning curve, he supposed. If he got to do this again next year, he would have to make sure they had more tricks in place from the start, rather than just leaving the kids to fight it out. It would make it more entertaining too. It had started to get a bit boring at times now the final few were waiting for each other to make the first move. Betting on the outcome was the only thing keeping the Capitol Citizens interest up.

The explosions turned out to be a massive hit. Dramatic and unexpected, they made for great television; and Catrina finally managed to kill off the District 7 tribute bringing it all to the desired end. Creador was widely congratulated. He would be back next year. 

  


“Ask him now Calista,” begged Radiance, “I’ve never known him in such a good mood. Please.”

Radiance had realised she needed to go to Shimmer’s grave in District 1. It was too late to see her body and she still couldn’t bring herself to watch any Hunger Games footage. But she thought if she could go back to 1 she might be able to grieve. 

Calista was trying to learn how to ask for things directly instead of manipulating. But she figured, in this situation, her old approach would probably work best.

They were out at dinner in Panem’s finest restaurant when she asked him. Always best to have plenty of other people around to keep him on good behaviour. Several Capitol celebrities had come up to shake his hand and tell him how much they had loved the dramatic ending to the Games. 

“It was fantastic,” Calista echoed. “You are so talented at what you do, you shouldn’t worry so much, you are bound to be a success.”

Creador had slight pangs at some of the beatings he had given Calista over the previous couple of weeks. They maybe hadn’t all been entirely deserved.

“I appreciate the support you’ve given me Calista. I think we made a real impact with Columbine too. You were right about getting the child in time for the Games shows.”

She batted her eye lashes at him. “I was thinking of treating myself to some new jewellery, to celebrate your success. A wife of the head gamemaker has to look particularly fabulous don’t you think?”

Creador smiled at her greed. This was a side of his wife he understood and had no trouble in indulging.

“I think that’s another very good idea. Make sure it’s the best, I want everyone to be talking about us for a long time.”

He raised his glass, “To my successes and your excesses,” he laughed at his own joke.

Calista clinked her glass with his, “Oh Andronicus,” she giggled. “I hate you so much,” but this part she kept in her head.

  


Radiance had longed to return to District 1 ever since she was taken away to the capitol. But not like this. Aurin led the way to Shimmer’s grave. Her mother had stayed at home to look after Columbine whilst Calista met with the jewellers. 

“I still can’t believe it happened. Is it true Aurin, did you see it?”

He nodded, “I made myself watch, I wanted to be there with her in the only way I could. I know I’m to blame. For what happened to Shimmer, and you, too, I know. You’ve been made to suffer for what I’ve done.” 

” I was angry with you,” Radiance admitted. “But we have to remember, you haven’t done anything wrong. You just stood up for what you believe in. A world where people aren’t sold like property and children aren’t made to fight to the death for entertainment. I refuse to be turned against you Aurin.” 

He was humbled by his sister’s forgiveness. 

”What’s it been like, working for the Creadors?”

“Frightening at first, they’re so different from us. But I got used to it. Calista has changed, for the better, especially since she brought Columbine to the house. “

“It’s not her child?” Aurin hadn’t realised this.

“No. She’s not Columbine’s natural mother; but she does love her. Columbine has made her practically human!” Radiance managed a smile as she told her brother about Calista and Columbine. “She’s from district 2 actually. Did you know the rebels from 2 were forced to become peacekeepers?” 

“Yes, that’s how I tried to send the Mockingjay pin over to District 2. I don’t even know if it ever got there. It must have been intercepted at some point. They sent it back with Shimmer’s body.” 

They walked in silence to the grave; a small headstone with a gold plated plaque engraved with their sister’s name and the dates of her birth and death. The first tribute to fall in the Hunger Games. Radiance knelt down to feel closer to her, pressing her palms into the earth. “I think she’ll be together with dad now,” Aurin quietly offered the only comfort he had been able to find. Radiance shook as the sorrow inside her finally surfaced.

  


Aurin picked up their conversation as they returned to the workshop.  
“Will you tell Columbine, that her mother was a District 2 rebel?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, Aurin. Maybe.”

Inside the Goldsmiths home Radiance’s mother cradled Columbine almost possessively.

“Doesn’t she remind you of Shimmer?”

she asked, looking for her children to agree with her.

Radiance knew what her mother meant.

“Do you think we just see it because we miss her so much?”

Aurin felt saddened by the sight of his mother and sister looking for Shimmer in a stolen child. But he came over to join them. He looked at the baby’s fingers. They were similar to his it was true. And her mouth looked a bit like Shimmers. She opened her wide brown eyes at him. And now he saw Halle too.

“This is ridiculous,” he was annoyed by this game and left them to it.

He slipped down to the workshop to look at the Mockingjay brooch. Was this all he could think of to reach Halle again? He knew he couldn’t stop trying.

Aurin disturbed his family’s cooing over the baby.

“Radiance this is what they sent back with Shimmers body. She died because I tried to contact a rebel called Halle, Halle Stone, in District 2. I tried to send her this, so she would know that I was still with her. I wanted to tell her that I would never forget what we were fighting for, and I would never forget her. But I’m stuck here. Powerless. I think you have more chance to spread the word from the Capitol.” 

The mockingjay was passed from Aurin to his sister.

”I know it’s risky, but, if you don’t hear of Halle, would you give this to Columbine, when she’s older? As the daughter of a rebel soldier. Try to tell her what it means.”

“What does it mean, Aurin?”

“It means the fight goes on. We will win in the end."


	5. Keeping the Peace

Keeping the Peace

It turned out that winning was all District 2 needed to come around to the idea of the Hunger Games. From the moment Catrina’s spear pierced the boy from 7’s neck the mood changed, even in the hospital. The nurses could be heard extolling their hero; brave, strong Catrina, the pride of the district. Halle couldn’t help thinking she’d had an unfair advantage, having already fought in the war, and then being trained for months prior to the games. But who was complaining when the food parcels were on the way.

Halle wasn’t yet fit to wear her uniform for Catrina’s homecoming, but it turned out she wouldn’t miss the return either. A Peacekeeper arrived, rifle under their arm, to escort her to join the celebrations. 

When she didn’t immediately respond the armoured figure sat in the chair next to her bed with an audible sigh. Blade removed her helmet to reveal her usual stern expression. “Orders from Command; you’ve to get up and start acting like a soldier. Well, a Peacekeeper anyway,” Blade added in a slightly softer tone. “I’ll take you down, so you can salute the Victor. She did your district proud.”

Halle continued to stare out the window at the mountain, remembering little Catrina Slater, trotting along behind her brother, crying because he was walking too fast and wouldn’t wait for her. She wondered if Catrina’s family would be here now. Would Catrina finally get her wish to go home?

Out on the streets, the victor’s face was everywhere; on posters and banners, in various poses from warrior-like, holding her weapon of choice, the spear, over her head, to heavily made- up as she had been for the post games interview; unrecognisable as the girl from home.

The main street was lined with the citizens of District 2. A band played and candy was thrown into the crowd. Most of the children had never tasted anything so intensely sweet and scuffles broke out as they fought over the treats. At last she appeared, waving to the crowd as she made her way from the station to the Town square. Seats had been put out for a final televised interview in front of the new Justice Building. Halle recognised Catrina’s parents and brothers waiting to welcome their girl back home. She longed for her own family. Her parents would probably be working today. They wouldn’t be able to afford the time or fare to travel down to the district centre. Mandatory viewing was streamed in to screens in the mine, keeping them informed about Catrina whilst still having no idea what was happening to their own daughter. Halle wrapped her arms around her empty body and tried to focus on what Catrina was saying.

“As winners of the first Hunger Games the president has granted us a special privilege in Panem. From now on citizens of District 2 will be eligible to volunteer as Peacekeepers alongside our brothers and sisters from the Capitol. I can hardly believe I have been able to bring this honour to my district. I plan to use my talents as a fighter to set up a training school for District 2 children who would like to volunteer for the service of the country. We’ll start next week, so get your applications in now.”

All dreams of her mountain home had apparently been extinguished. 

“I’m going back to the hospital,” Halle informed Blade. 

“She’s asked for you personally; to work at her training centre.”

Halle groaned.

“You can finish recuperating in the centre barracks.”

There was just one word shouting in Halle’s head, “NO!” She turned and ran into the crowd, but found herself pushing against a wall of bodies all trying to get closer to Catrina.

Blade followed Halle; she wasn’t prepared to shoot into the crowd. There was no need as they parted for her Peacekeeper’s uniform making it easy for her catch up with her charge. She had headed for the station, the only place in the town she knew.

Halle found herself stood on the edge of the platform staring down at the track. “Where to now?” She took a moment to search for what she wanted to do. 

The answer was there waiting. What she wanted was to find her child. She was angry; she hated the Capitol, but the bigger picture had been blotted out by what they had done to her. She needed a family and a home and the closest she had ever felt to having what she wanted, was when she felt the baby she and Aurin had made together, kicking inside her.

“Am I going to have to shoot you?” Blade stood right behind her.

“They stole my child,” Halle shouted back, still lost in her own thoughts.

Blade levelled her gun at Halle as she approached and took her by the arm. “We’re going for a walk.”

She led Halle off the platform, but took her along by the tracks, away from the town square.

“What happened to you wasn’t fair Halle, but you’re going to have to get over it. You are just one angry young woman, railing against the system. You can’t change anything; you fought, you tried, but things are the way they are.”

“You need to grieve your child. Women lose children, it’s a sad fact; and the world expects them to get over it. I lost my first baby. I could say she was stolen from me- by death. It’s not fair Halle, but there is nothing you can do. At least your child is living somewhere, being spoiled in the Capitol. Their name won’t be up for reaping in 12 years. Look at it that way.”

They walked on in silence as the shadows lengthened. A train sped by blowing the dust up into their faces, insulting them as it left. 

Halle was trapped. 

Eventually they reached the new district fence.  
“Decision time Halle. You try to leave and I shoot you, or you come back with me to train Catrina’s Young Peacekeepers?”

She didn’t want to die.

“Can we make a grave, for my child?”

Blade could no longer meet her eyes, they knew too much about each other. She led Halle away from the train track, into the rocky land at the edge of the District.  
Halle looked back and saw the mountain was still there. This would do as well as any other place to leave her soul behind.

They gathered some rocks together and piled them up. Halle had thought just to make a marker, but once started she couldn’t stop. The stones grew into a monument as tall as she was, as tall as her child would be one day. She worked until her arms ached from lifting the rocks, her hands were sore from the sharp edges. It helped that there was pain and effort involved in this.

“What now?”

“You say Goodbye.”

Halle wrapped her arms around the pile of rocks, feeling the roughness on her cheek; she rubbed it again to be sure she would have a graze there. “I’m sorry” she whispered, to her poor, defenceless babe; to Aurin, who’s Mockingjay she had lost; to her parents who had loved her unconditionally; to everyone she had failed. 

The sun set behind the grave, its long shadow reaching out to Halle and Blade, stood with heads bowed, each in their own world.

Blade eventually put her helmet back on and took Halle by the arm. “You don’t talk about this.”

They walked back to town which was now cleared of the celebration. Halle much preferred the streets this way. The honest grey stone didn’t need dressing up with Capitol propaganda.

Blade accompanied her to the hospital ward and asked the nurses to give her a strong sedative. They didn’t need any further explanation to comply with the peacekeeper’s request and soon Halle was saved by the chemicals from having to think or feel anything.

  


Catrina’s Training Camp was heavily over subscribed. She hand picked the strongest, fiercest, most ruthless 12 to 18 year olds the district could provide.  
“You are going to be the elite.” She told them as she toasted them from the head of the dinner table. “No one will dare cross a District 2 Peacekeeper.”

Halle noticed that Catrina now drank heavily. In the morning she appeared on time and led the warm up and a run. But by lunchtime she handed training over to Blade and Halle, retiring to her bed with a bottle of spirits. 

Halle set about teaching these serious and regimented students to fight. She joked with them as she taught the holds she had once practiced with Aurin wanting to hear them laugh, like children should.

Blade was always strict, but seemed to be enjoying herself in this new role too.

The months passed quickly and the days grew cold again. It would soon be a year since the surrender. A year of peace. Andronicus Creador appeared on the screens again, announcing a ‘Victory Tour’ to commemorate the victory over the rebellion. It would be led by Catrina, the symbol of all that could be achieved if you gave your life to the Capitol. The children were sent home for a break, whilst Halle and Blade would accompany Catrina as she was paraded around Panem.

They started out in District 12, just about as far away from the Capitol as you could get. Halle could see that the people here were so hungry and run down it would be hard for them to sustain the energy for a revolution.

Away from her routine with the trainees, Catrina’s drinking escalated. Halle and Blade had to hold her up as they made their way from the Justice Building back to the train. She was sick on Blade’s shoes at the station.  
“Reminds me of old times,” Blade sighed, scooping Catrina into her arms and taking her to her room. I’ll watch tonight to make sure she doesn’t inhale her vomit. We can take it in turns.”

They went through the same procedure at each stop. A bit of sightseeing; admiring the district’s products, then a meal with the mayor, and anyone else vaguely important the District could come up with. Catrina would change from triumphant victor to incoherent mess over the course of the evening, until Halle and Blade would try to rescue what they could of her dignity and return her to the train.

They were late arriving at District 1, meaning the tour had to be replaced with a short walk through the town from the station to the Justice building. The District citizens had been primed with Panem National Flags to wave and instructions to cheer. But the animosity was not well hidden. Their young people’s sacrifice was still an open wound.

Catrina had already had a couple of drinks making her over confident, and unaware of the feeling in the crowd.  
As she went to shake hands a globule of spit landed at her feet. Blade immediately put herself in front of Catrina, just in time for another ball of spit to be landed right on the visor of her helmet.  
Instinctively Halle aimed her gun into the crowd looking for the offender.  
The faces of District 1 aimed their fear and hatred right back at her. She saw herself in their eyes. A Capitol Peacekeeper, protecting the privileged from those they oppressed.  
Quickly, she took Catrina’s arm and led her on to the safety of the Justice Building, needing to get away from this painful realisation of what she had become.

Tonight, Halle walked away from the party complaining of a headache, leaving Blade to take care of Catrina. She had kept her helmet on to cover her face the whole time in this district, ashamed of what she had become. Inside the armour she wondered if she was she starting to meld with the costume. 

She wandered back through the District 1 centre, where the streets were emptying as the shops shut up for the night. So many different fine goods were sold here; jewels, furs, silks, gold. Things the District 2 population would have no place for. It was a wonder she and Aurin had ever found common ground. All the workshops she passed were locked down and dark, except for one. She was drawn to the warm glow through a small window in a heavy wooden door. She peered through, wanting to see what life was like behind the doors of District 1. The heat of the fire inside even warmed the glass. She took her glove off to feel it better. 

The door was pulled away from her by a muscular young man, his bright golden hair falling into his furious blue eyes. And suddenly Halle was afraid to speak. 

“What now?” He asked defiantly. 

His fearlessness made Halle want to cry. 

Aurin had come to the end of his tether with this. He was constantly harassed by the Peacekeepers. This one didn’t seem to even be able to come up with an excuse for their interference, though he expected it was to do with his having missed the victors parade. 

“Can I help you?” he asked again in a more even tone; not all the Peacekeepers were so bad. Mostly they were just doing their job, following orders. 

She stepped inside. The heat inside her helmet was making her face burn, she couldn’t breath. It brought back being in the burning building in District 3 again. This man had come back and saved her. Saved the woman she used to be anyway. 

“I’m sorry.”

His head jerked up at the familiar sound of her voice.  
He knew it had to be her, but he still couldn’t quite believe it, when she removed her helmet to reveal herself.  
“Halle!” He threw his arms around her, pulling her in close to him and holding her fast. “Halle” he repeated her name having to convince himself of what had just appeared in his workshop.  
He could feel she was sobbing against his chest, but when he tried to look down at her she just pulled herself in close to him, keeping her eyes hidden.

“You’re here,” he had to touch her face. “Please, look at me; I’ve been hopeless without you. All I could do was make jewellery to try to reach you. But you, you walk straight into my house.”

She was the most amazing person Aurin had ever met.

She carried on clinging to him, relishing the feeling of being held in his arms again.  
“I had to become a Peacekeeper,” she muttered through her tears, unable to explain what she had been through. “I feel like I’ve let everyone down.”

At last she looked up into his face with her soft brown eyes and yielded to his kiss.  
He tasted the tears on her face, sharing her breath as he finally traced over her mouth before molding his lips to hers. She wanted to lose herself in him, but forced herself to pull back again.

“There’s things I need to tell you.”

“O.K.” he allowed, “but I’m not letting go of you.”

“You made a golden mockingjay didn’t you? It did reach me. I knew you had made it straight away. And then I lost it; they took it off me.”

“So you had held it? I didn’t know. They sent it back with Shimmers body.”

“Oh Aurin. Your sister. They’ve made you suffer so much.”

The sorrow was easier to manage with her arms around him.  
“They punished her for what I’d done.”

She could feel him tense up as he talked about his Shimmer. How was she going to tell him about their baby?  
Her hand went up to his face as she spoke the words she dreaded to say because it still hurt too much. “Aurin, they took something else from us too. I was pregnant; we have a child somewhere. But they took the baby before I could even see it. Sold it to someone in the Capitol.” It was hard to tell what she was saying as the words choked her.  
He rocked her in his arms and let her cry the way she had needed to.

“I wanted it so much, Aurin. I know I never saw the baby but I loved it, because we made it. I thought it would look like you.”

The truth was there waiting for them.  
“Columbine.”

Halle didn’t understand.

Aurin wrapped his arms more tightly around her.   
“Halle, I think she was here.”  
He wasn’t making any sense.

“My sister, Radiance, works in the Capitol, for Creador, the Head gamemaker.” Halle nodded to let him know she was following.  
“They bought a baby girl, born just before the reaping. From a district 2 rebel turned into a peacekeeper. Radiance brought her with her when she came to see Shimmer’s grave. She has your eyes Halle.”

“Our daughter.”

He looked down into the same soft brown eyes he had seen just a few months back, cursing himself that she had had to go through all this alone.

They sat together, staying warm by the furnace. Halle let her head rest on Aurin’s shoulder and felt the peace in that moment. 


	6. Wasted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plutarch's here! I know this makes him late 60's when he meets Katniss, but I don't think Suzanne Collins says how old he is in the books.

Wasted

“Take her a drink.” The nightclub owner decided with annoyance he was going to have to intervene and passed his head barman a wrap of white powder. 

“We need to get a buzz going or they’ll be sending the Victors somewhere else to party next week.” 

Their gaze was directed at the blonde sitting on her own in the V.I.P. section, swirling the dregs of her cocktail slowly around the glass.

“It’s a shame, but I think she’s lost it.”

He remembered the good old days when pictures of Columbine Creador falling out of his club were in the news most weeks. Everyone had wanted to party with the head gamemaker’s wild child. But he had been around long enough to know after a high there was always going to be a comedown. At least the Victors would be back next week for the 24th Hunger Games. He needed a good Games Season to keep his bills paid. 

The barman sprinkled the powder into a colourful drink and walked over to deliver it to Columbine.

He stood waiting for her to notice him, whilst she carried on swirling, her mind somewhere far away from the club. Her beautiful face had such a sad expression; it was pitiful and definitely no good for business. 

Columbine had been coming here since she was 16, when her father insisted she start hanging out with Victors for publicity, and now she spent more time in the club than at home. The barman knew she didn’t actually drink much these days, having had enough bad experiences through her teens to learn her lesson. 

He placed the drink right in her line of sight, “Compliments of your host.”

She looked up at him, transforming her face with a breath taking smile. “Am I bringing the atmosphere down? Sorry.” 

“We just want all our clients to have a great time, you included. We haven’t seen you on the dance floor all week.”

“You’re right,” she shook off her maudlin frame of mind and downed the drink, noticing a slightly sour taste but not thinking too much about it.

“Are you going to dance with me?” She asked batting her eyelids and putting her hand out for him to help her out her seat. It was impressive the way she could switch it on when she had the mind to. He wished he could join in her pretence and hold more than her hand, but that would definitely be against the rules.

She flashed him another smile and sashayed over to the dance floor, knowing his eyes would be following her curves.

Columbine watched from the side-lines for a while, swaying to the melody in her head which didn’t quite match up to the baseline driving the rest of the club-goers. She laughed, for some reason amused by the situation, and pushed her way to the middle of the dance floor where she could have other bodies bump against her. She needed to feel connected. The music hit just right on her chemically enhanced receptors; setting her free. 

She danced on through the night, feeling the club come up around her. A group of kids had taken her on board, and she fed off their unjaded enthusiasm for a good night out. Most of the time she found herself with a sweet boy who kept reminding her to drink water, though the bar kept sending cocktails. As the lights finally came back on, it was still hard for her to stop moving. She knew she was a wreck; someone must have spiked her drink she realised, feeling foolish as she stood there dishevelled and old amongst the fresh faces of her “friends”. 

The boy took her hand,   
“I’ll get you home.”

She didn’t want to go home.

“I’d rather just stay with you.” Even with smudged make up and hair that was starting to frizz she had a certain something that men found hard to resist. He allowed her to lean on him as they made their way out onto the street. 

This was her favourite time, when she left the heat of the club to meet a new dawn. The air was cleaner before the traffic started up and she could hear the mockingjays, singing from their perches, high on the ledges of the glass buildings. The sun’s rays were softer too, kindly bathing her face in light that disguised the effects of the night. The music still echoed in her head and she clung a little to her companion’s arm.

“It was a good night,” he remarked breaking the comfortable silence they had fallen into.

She was surprised to find she agreed, “Yes, it was. Thanks.” Whatever had been done to her, she had enjoyed herself more than she had for a long time. 

“So, what do you want to do now?”

“I wish I could climb a mountain,” she thought of Catrina’s description of District 2. “Do you ever think about going out to the Districts?”

This was practically blasphemy, to dream of something other than a privileged life in the Capitol.

She smiled at his shocked expression, “Maybe not today then.”

They carried on walking past the fountains and sculptures of this most civilised of cities, “Where do you live?”

“Near the Circle.” She could hear his hesitation. 

“Can we get onto your roof? I’d just like to look out on the world.”

He looked into her face, trying to work her out. Columbine looked back. He wasn’t typically handsome, but his grey eyes were kind and intelligent.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Seventeen.”

Young to be in the club, he must have well-connected family.

“And you?”

“Twenty-four; as of yesterday, actually.”

He thought about her out on her own on her birthday. The moment built, until he decided to stop analysing for once and leant in to kiss her.

It was a nice kiss; soft and caressing, not pushing her anywhere. She enjoyed it like eating a ripe strawberry, savouring the way their lips felt against each other, sucking his lip into her mouth to taste a little more. He was a sweet boy, much too good for her.

Their eyes opened to meet almost at the same time, bringing the kiss to a close.

“Happy birthday,” he smiled.

“So, can we get on your roof?”

“O.k., but we’ll have to be quiet.”

He led the way to his house, one of the grand old buildings near the president’s mansion. His parents must be advisors Columbine realised, as they crept into the formal entrance hall. She took off her impractical heels to reduce the noise they made as they started up the stairs.

A woman’s voice came from a room on the first floor, “Plutarch, is that you just getting in?”

“Sorry, did I wake you,” he put his finger to his lips to warn Columbine not to make her presence known.

“No, I’ve been up all night myself with the president. Just come in here so I can see you.”

He gestured for Columbine to stay where she was whilst he stood inside the room to talk to this person. Columbine assumed it must be his mother.

“I hope you weren’t drinking,” she sighed resignedly as someone who knew this was too much to expect. “Why don’t you join me for breakfast, I know I haven’t spent any time with you recently.”

“Can we maybe do dinner? I’m too tired to eat now, you’ll get more out of me if I’ve slept.”

“O.k., I should probably try to get some sleep too.” Columbine could hear steps coming closer to the door and prepared herself for an awkward introduction. But she must have just been coming to hug her son.

He reappeared, with a cheeky grin on his face, clearly enjoying deceiving his mother, and directed Columbine down the hallway, guiding her through one of several identical, heavy wooden doors.

“Sorry, I don’t think we can get up on the roof now.”

They were in a large room with bookshelves, a desk and a large soft bed. Columbine realised how tired she was now all effects of the drug had gone. Without asking she lay down on the white covers.

Plutarch went into the bathroom to get her a drink and some pain killers.

“Thanks. You’re so nice,” she smiled up at him.

This wasn’t really what he wanted to hear, but he decided he’d take it.

“Let’s go to sleep,” she suggested with heavy eyelids, moving across to make room for him next to her on his bed.

He went back to lock his bedroom door, and placed his shoes on a rack in the wardrobe. By the time he lay down next to Columbine her eyes were closed and her breathing had slowed. 

He kissed her cheek making her eyelids flutter and the corners of her mouth turn up.

“Plutarch,” she whispered to herself, and he realised she hadn’t even known his name. 

  


The Heavensbee household was always quiet, and without disruption Plutarch and Columbine slept on into the afternoon. 

He felt confused as he came to with someone lying on his arm. His clock said it was nearly 3pm. He shifted his position to free himself, resting Columbine’s head on the pillow, and switched on the TV as he did every day, to see what was happening in the world.

Political commentators were discussing the merits of the President’s son, Coriolanus Snow. At just 23, he had been appointed by his father as his representative whilst he recovered from “a short illness.” Everyone knew the old president was dying, though this truth was never spoken in public. The men on TV agreed that Coriolanus would bring some much needed energy into the running of the country. But living in a house where politics was discussed constantly, Plutarch was aware that there were many who were unhappy at the way he had been pushed into centre stage. Others had been patiently waiting their turn for power. There were even whispers from the fringes that some would have wanted an election.

The piece finished and the camera switched back to the presenter. 

“In society news, Columbine Creador at last appears to be back on the dating scene. We can exclusively bring you pictures of the 24 year old socialite with her new beau, rumoured to be Athena Heavensbee’s seventeen year old son, Plutarch.”

And there they were, openly kissing on the street. 

“The age gap doesn’t appear to be getting in the way of love for this cute couple.”

Plutarch thanked the stars his parents never bothered with this type of broadcast, though it wouldn’t be long until their friends called to find out if the rumours were true.

He looked down at the sleeping Columbine. Outside of the club she looked smaller, her golden hair curled messily over her cheeks. Her lips were parted slightly. He was glad he’d kissed her. It definitely felt like she had kissed him back, but he wasn’t sure what she’d think about them being so publicly linked. He decided not to wake her, she looked so peaceful asleep in his bed, and he just wanted to enjoy this moment whilst there was still a chance she might want to kiss him again. 

Plutarch went to shower and change in his bathroom, trying his best not to disturb the beautiful woman he had brought home with him. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Things like this never happened to him; he was far too serious for girls to see him with romantic potential.   
“Maybe I need an older woman,” he thought, allowing himself to fantasise a little whilst Columbine slept on. It was perfect really; she was still here in his room, but he hadn’t had to put himself out there and talk to her yet. He slipped out to get something to eat from the kitchen and test whether anyone in the household was aware of the kissing photograph.

The click of the door closing brought Columbine out of her dream. She had been flying over the mountains of district 2, held afloat by the currents of wind. If only she could hold on to that feeling, but it faded away as fast as she chased after it. Her bladder was insisting she get up, so she untangled herself from the bed covers to use the bathroom. She felt sticky and unclean in the clothes from last night. She disposed of her silver stockings in the waste bin, setting her legs free, and redressed just in her shorts and silk vest-top. She wasn’t comfortable to shower in this stranger’s home, so made do with washing her make up off and using her finger to clean her teeth. She dampened her hair down as best she could, before tying it up in a loose bun. 

Back in Plutarch’s bedroom she felt glad he had left her on her own to wake up. He was so considerate. She smiled at the memory of him looking after her in the club and then letting her stay here instead of having to go home and interact with her father. She owed him for sure. 

The afternoon sunlight came in through the gap in the curtains, hitting the titles of the books on his shelves: ‘Political History of Panem’, ‘Merits of the District System’…These weren’t books she’d ever seen on the usual schools curriculum, though admittedly, she hadn’t paid a lot of attention to studying, what with living in the middle of the war zone that was her parents marriage. She wondered if Plutarch would lend her his books; she really wanted to know more about her country, especially the world outside the Capitol. She wandered over to the window to see what view she would have, but it wasn’t high enough to see past the other buildings. It came back to her that she had come here as Plutarch had said she could go up on his roof. 

Letting herself out of the bedroom she trod carefully, still barefooted, so as not to draw attention to herself, and made her way to the end of the corridor where she correctly assumed the lift would be. 

  


It was a beautiful, warm summers evening. Columbine leaned over the railing at the edge of the Heavensbee’s roof garden. Someone had made the most of this space, filling it with flowering plants that scented the air. The sounds of the city below were mixed with deep, musical tones from large windchimes. It was a perfect place to relax, if these busy people ever took the time to use it. She turned slowly around looking out towards the horizon, working out which way was East. Somewhere over there was her true home. She felt in her pocket where she had pinned the brooch, given to her by Radiance nearly ten years ago. 

  


She had been terrified, panicking that he was actually going to kill her this time. Banging her fist on the bedroom door, she pleaded with her father to leave her mother alone. 

“You can’t leave me,” Creador was screaming at his wife, “You’re nothing without me.”

Radiance appeared behind her with a suitcase.  
“We have to go, it’s not safe to go on like this anymore.” The situation in the house had never been safe, but now Calista was suffering broken bones as well as bruises.

Radiance started kicking the door. For a moment Columbine was paralysed by the sight of a servant defying her master in this way, but it took only a second for her to realise this was the right thing; not what was going on behind the closed door of her parent’s marriage. She joined in throwing her self at the door. 

The noise must have finally reached Creador’s awareness. The door was pulled open from inside, leaving her sprawling at his feet. He grabbed her. 

“Go then, take your whore and get out. But Columbine is mine.”

Calista had already made for the door, but stopped to face him.

“You can’t care for a teenage girl. She needs her mother.”

“You’re not her mother though are you,” he stated cruelly. “Did you know that Columbine? We bought you, just like we bought Radiance.”

Having dropped this bombshell he carried on his tirade at his wife,” No one would want to be around you Calista if they weren’t paid to be here.” 

Calista was beaten. She loved Columbine but she didn’t think she would survive another day with this man.

“I promise we’ll send for you,” her eyes pleaded for her daughter to understand. Creador had his arm wrapped across Columbines chest preventing her from escaping. Her mother was too scared to try to hug her goodbye. “I promise, it won’t be long.”

Creador gave a sneering laugh, “I wouldn’t bet money on that Calista; we’ll see who the courts judge to be the better parent.”

Radiance pulled Calista away, fearful of Creador’s unpredictable temper flaring up again.

And so Columbine became the pawn in her parents’ ongoing battle. The means by which her father continued to hold control over his wife. Many times she tried to run away, but the authorities always brought her back. Calista had been disowned by all her family and friends. The shame of choosing her toy over her talented husband was too much scandal for them to be seen taking her side. Eventually it was decided she would be moved out to District 4. She was given the title of District Mayoress to save face, but it was made very clear she could have no further contact with anyone from the Capitol, her daughter included. 

They met for the last time in a room at the station. Calista was unable to control her tears, making any final words difficult. Radiance hugged the girl she had tried her best to protect. The way she had a look of Shimmer at certain angles still made her heart leap. At least Columbine would never have to go through the reaping.

Radiance took the mockingjay out of her pocket to pass on the message from Aurin. She had kept her ear out but had never heard the name of Halle Stone in the capitol. It would have to go to Columbine.

“This was made by my brother for the woman he loved, a rebel soldier from district 2, Halle Stone. They were separated at the end of the war as they came from different districts, but they weren’t ready to surrender. The capitol is right to be afraid of what will happen if the districts communicate with each other.”

Radiance had even been prevented from contacting her family in District 1 since the visit to Shimmers grave. Creador had finally realised she was Aurin Sheen’s other sister. A nanny had also been appointed for Columbine, limiting the influence Radiance could have on his child.

“My brother, Aurin, said if I couldn’t find Halle, you should have this. Because your birth mother was a district 2 rebel, like Halle. She must have been brave and strong, a fighter. He told me to tell you the mockingjay means the fight goes on. We will win in the end. “

“We will see you again Columbine,” Calista managed to get herself together enough to speak, “we can’t let the Capitol keep playing these cruel games with our lives.” Her chin started to wobble again, so she just held her daughter in her arms until a peacekeeper came to take them to board the train. Of course they hadn’t seen each other again. The Capitol always got exactly what it wanted.

Columbine found herself a place to hide amongst the flowers. She sat cross legged and closed her eyes, tilting her head back to feel the warmth of the sun on her face. If she let herself, she could start down a self-pitying road. Two mothers had been willing to let her go; it didn’t do much for her sense of self-worth. But she knew that wasn’t the true story. Calista and Radiance had loved her as best they could. Her other mother was the one she always longed for on her birthday. The woman who had given her life; a fighter from District 2. She wanted to be a daughter she would be proud of, even if they never met. 


	7. Making Plans

There was a sharp knock on Plutarch’s door immediately followed by his mother’s face. It was clear she was not pleased with him. 

“I have just had the dubious honour of a phone call from our Head Gamemaker,” she had no love for the showmanship that seemed to have to go along with running the country. “He was looking for his daughter and, for some reason, thought she might be with you.”

Plutarch felt out of his depth. He stood there sheepishly with a cup in each hand, having only just returned to find his room empty.

“Two cups of coffee,” his mother noted with her sarcastic tone, “was it a particularly draining night?” 

Her eyes flitted to the open door of the en-suite where a pair of silver stockings was draped provocatively over the edge of the waste bin. 

Plutarch followed her gaze and blushed at what he presumed she must be thinking, making him look more guilty.

She stood with her hands on her hips and waited for a reply. 

“How best to handle this?” he puzzled to himself. Did she know that he and Columbine had made the news in the lead-up to Games week? He thought not, or she would be angrier than this. She liked to consider herself above all that, though, of course, she supported the Hunger Games in principle as a loyal advisor to the President. So… she was probably mostly annoyed at being caught off guard by Andronicus Creador.

“I’m sorry, I should have let you know she came back from the club with me; but it was so early and I thought you had enough on your mind without bothering about a house guest.”

She snorted, “A house guest! I am well aware of the reputation that young lady has.”

Plutarch immediately felt the need to defend Columbine, “You’ve judged her before you’ve even met her.”

Athena Heavensbee raised her eye brow at her son’s reaction. “So maybe you need to introduce me?”

The problem being he didn’t know where she was. Would she have left without saying goodbye? Despite appearances, it hadn’t been a one night stand. Unless she had seen the picture on the news and been too embarrassed to speak to him? But he didn’t think she would be fazed by media coverage, worse things had been reported about her than kissing a younger man, surely? Where would she have gone? He looked out the window as if she might be there. The view reminded him why she had come home with him in the first place.

“I think she’s on the roof. I invited her back to look out over the city.”

“How very romantic,” his mother mocked, irritating Plutarch again.

  


Every time Athena made it onto the roof garden, she told herself she should spend more time up here. The summer flowers were in full bloom, filling the air with scents that reminded her of her grandfather’s garden. The Capitol life with its constant pressures and demands seemed far away.

She couldn’t see the young socialite though.

Columbine spotted them first. “Hi, Plutarch, hope you don’t mind I found my way up here. I didn’t feel right staying in your bedroom.” She rose up from amongst the containers to reveal herself.

She wasn’t what Athena had expected. Bare foot and unmade up, Columbine was a natural beauty with golden hair and freckles on her deeply tanned skin. Her face came to life when she smiled. She was also holding a book she had been reading where Athena had pictured her with a cocktail glass.

Plutarch was speechless. Last night she had been attractive, now she seemed perfect.

As no one else was saying anything Columbine took the lead. “Your books looked so interesting; I was just reading about the District System, I don’t think they taught this when I was at school.”

“Beautiful and she thinks reading about the District System is interesting!” Plutarch had never felt like this before. He couldn’t seem to form any proper words.

Unfortunately this left room for his mother to interrupt in her most superior manner, “I suppose it must be some years since you were at school.”

Columbine continued to be the epitome of grace, not rising to the challenge she stepped forward with her arm outstretched to shake Plutarch’s mother’s hand. “I’m sorry, you must think me very rude,” She looked at Plutarch to prompt him to do his bit for diplomacy.

At last he rallied himself, “Mother this is my friend, Columbine Creador; Columbine, may I introduce my mother, Athena Heavensbee, Chief Advisor to the Presidency.”

The two women shook hands whilst eyeing each other. Plutarch found it hard to look anywhere other than at Columbine. 

“Your father called to check if you were O.K. I understand it was your birthday yesterday; did my son get caught up in your celebration?”

Columbine’s smile was swept away, “It’s amazing how good he is at tracking me down.”

“He asked for you to call him back; I expect he worries about you all the more since your mother left,” Athena replied, as she led the way back down into the house. She didn’t like the way Plutarch seemed taken in by this ‘person’. She had far too much scandal attached to her to be associating with the Heavensbees.

Plutarch watched Columbine remove all emotion from her face. She turned to hand him the book. 

“Thanks for everything. Sorry if I’ve caused you any trouble.” 

He realised he hadn’t managed to speak to her yet. ”It was great; I had a great night, with you.”

She gave a laugh as if he had told a joke. 

Plutarch assumed it hadn’t counted as a great night in her life of exciting nights at the club.

“You can keep the book if you like.”

The sparkle returned to her eyes, “Are you sure? Thankyou, that’s really kind.”

“Call it a birthday present.” 

He wondered if she even remembered the kiss.

Leaning over to give her cheek a farewell peck, he found himself bumping noses with Columbine who had turned to give a thankyou kiss on the cheek in return for the present. Their lips met in the middle, surprising them both with how easily they fit together. Their eyes stayed wide open as they lingered for a second.

Columbine found herself blushing, which she never did. 

“I think you’ve spoiled me,” she tried to brush it off. “Would you mind getting my shoes from your room whilst I go and call my father?” She quickly left to find Athena, leaving Plutarch trying to work out what had just happened.

Columbine felt shaken up. It wasn’t the accidental kiss; it had been the way he looked right into her as if he could see the person she was underneath. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

Athena had been waiting at the lift to show Columbine to the telephone. She led the way in silence to a study on the ground floor, leaving the door open to listen in on anything that was said about her son.

“Hello Columbine,” Creador greeted her in far too cheery a voice. She could picture his smug face. It irritated her that he had managed to wheedle himself into this house where she had been recognised as a person in her own right for a change.

“So you’ve finally done something useful.”

“Sorry?” she didn’t understand what he could mean by this. 

“I knew the Heavensbees weren’t as pure as they like to make out. Did you teach her son a trick or two?” 

He repulsed her, “Why do you always have to bring everything down to your level.” 

In two sentences he had got under her skin, and she had been determined to stay calm. 

“It’s a level that seems to interest most people; have you seen the news?” He took pleasure in informing her of the latest gossip.

She found herself making a noise that could only be described as growling. Anything good that came near her was always ruined.

“I was just thanking him for helping to celebrate my birthday, there’s nothing more to it.”

Plutarch had been waiting outside with her shoes. On hearing this he decided to just leave them for her. The movement caught Columbine’s eye just in time to see him walk away. She found herself blushing again, she didn’t want him to hear her making excuses to her father; she wanted him to think she was better than that. 

Her hand was shaking as it held the phone. “So you found me, well done. I’m going over to Bene’s now, I’m sure you’ll find out what I’ve been doing soon enough, so I won’t bother calling.”

Bene was a stylist for District 4, praised for his part in Mags Flanagan’s surprise win in his first year. Columbine often stayed with him between nights at the club, sometimes for weeks at a time. 

Creador spoke again before she could cut him off, “I was thinking we should probably meet up for dinner, as it’s your birthday.” He didn’t sound any more keen on this idea than she was.

She took a deep breath and lowered her voice back down again, “Look, I can’t face being around whilst the games are on, you know how stressed out you get.” She hoped Athena was listening in. “Let’s leave it until after it’s over. You can fill me in on what happened.”

With this final jab, reminding him she wouldn’t be watching, she put the phone down. She pressed her fingers into her eyes and sighed, so very disappointed with herself. How did he always manage to press her buttons? Every time she intended to be the better person and every time she ended up behaving like a child.

She put on her shoes and jacket, feeling the eyes of the Heavensbee family photographs watching her with scorn. She felt ashamed to take Plutarch’s book, but she really wanted to understand why the country was run this way.

Athena was waiting in the hallway outside the study.

She opened the front door, effectively seeing Columbine off the premises.

The Gamemaker’s daughter had to move slowly in her unnecessarily high heels. She tottered down the steps into the City Circle, overlooked by the Presidents mansion. So much for becoming the sort of noble individual her mother could be proud of.

  


Halle could practically taste the adrenaline in the air at the Peacekeeper Training Centre. The pace was frantic in the week leading up to the Hunger Games. Catrina now had 14 more victors to help lead the training, leaving her free to indulge herself with a bottle or two. She liked to give an address to the new trainees at the beginning of the year, and would announce those who had been chosen to volunteer as tribute on the evening before the reaping. She was very proud of District 2’s stats, most wins- all round and for male and female taken separately; quickest win; most kills- they were a force to be reckoned with. Somewhere along the line their training as peacekeepers had become mixed up with preparation for the Arena, but no one seemed to mind. Andronicus Creador had been pleased to try out the idea for volunteers to inject a bit of interest after the first few years. The Capitol citizens were in awe of the brave district 2 volunteers and backed them all the way.

Sitting at the large circular table of the meeting room, Halle tried to hold in her feelings as the Victors and Trainers considered who would be most likely to win out in the Arena. She hated the Games and the people who had created this abuse. But she would only see Aurin if District 2 went on the Victory Tour. Last year a well-muscled eighteen year old fisherman from District 4 had taken the initiative to volunteer, and won, taking the glory and extra food for his people. 

The year before, the year of the 22nd Hunger Games, was the last time Halle had been able to visit the Goldsmith’s shop. She had lain in Aurin’s bath as he dressed in his room; the connecting door left open so they could still talk. They were discussing their daughter’s latest appearance on T.V. 

“Do you think she’s happy though?” Of course Halle wanted her to be happy, but she didn’t understand the life she seemed to have chosen. She dipped her head back to feel the water flow over her scalp.

“Always out partying with the stylists.” By her age Halle had already fought in a war to defend her principles. 

“And lost a war; and a child.” She thought to herself, and sighed heavily, and pulled herself back up to sitting, making the water swell and spill over the edge.

The sound brought Aurin through to her. He took a towel and held it out for her to step into; using the excuse to wrap her in his arms again. These moments were so precious. Thanks to district 2’s prowess at the Hunger Games there had been more of them than they had ever dared to hope for, but every time they knew it could be the last. 

The first years they had been able to meet had been filled with re-establishing their relationship. There was no formal paperwork of course, but they considered themselves married now. Aurin’s mother had been let in on what was happening and gave them her blessing. She had died not long after, from an infected cut that she refused to have treated. He felt like she chose to be with her husband and youngest child.

“Perhaps we should be doing something more ourselves?” he suggested, as he started gently rubbing her down.

“About Columbine?” she puzzled. 

“No. I think we just have to be satisfied she’s alive and we get to see her on TV. I’ve been thinking a lot about the rebellion.” There was little else to distract himself with whilst he pined for Halle. 

“The president is getting old; even his own people can see he’s out of touch, living in his ivory tower for so long. The Hunger Games are just building anger in the districts. Children are starving, even here in 1, whilst 2 is allowed to win every year.” 

He kissed her on the nose to show there were no hard feelings as he continued, warming to his subject.

“I think it’s time; to start to fight back again.”

“You’re right,” Halle wrapped the towel around her damp hair and started to apply some lotion for her dry skin.

“I’ve felt the change in the air when we go to the districts on the tour. They’re sick of us,” she laughed, “Maybe Catrina will have managed to help the rebellion after all.”

“What could we do?” she rubbed her hands together until all the moisture was absorbed.

“We’ll probably have to start small this time.” Aurin faced the mirror watching Halle in the reflection behind him. “It’s too hard for us to communicate between Districts. Apart from you Peacekeepers from 2, you have a privileged position.”

He followed his wife through to the bedroom to watch her dress. Trying to memorise every curve of her firm body as it was covered once more in the white uniform.

“Why do you think they keep letting us win the Games?” her question was ironic. This was pretty obvious; they needed to keep District two comfortably fed. What would anyone from District 2 really have to rebel about. Apart from working in unsafe conditions in the mines; or being cruelly separated from their husband...

She crossed over to kiss Aurin again before she put on the armoured jacket. It was torture never knowing when or if she would see him again, but they just had to live for these stolen hours together. 

Aurin was just as desperate. How could they keep on doing this? What if another District started winning. What if District 2 won but she didn’t come? He couldn’t carry on with this life of waiting and not knowing. 

“I wish you could come with me,” Halle continued, pulling the heels of her boots on. “We need you in this uniform too. You could do so much damage as a peacekeeper. You know, they also need to keep us sweet in 2 because we store their weapons in our mountain.” Her buttons fastening almost completed her change of identity. 

“Could you get me one, somehow?” Aurin’s pulse quickened at finally having the prospect of taking action.

His skin may have aged, his hair was now cut short as it grew thinner, but the spirit of the boy she fell in love with was still there, stronger than ever. There would be risks, but that’s what she and Aurin did, they took the risks, and mostly they had paid off.

She wrapped her arms under his shoulders, feeling the muscles he worked hard to maintain.

“I think I could, for you.”

  


“We have to win this year.” 

Back in the meeting room, planning for the 24th Games, Halle hadn’t meant to speak her thoughts out loud. Luckily it was only the same thought shared by the rest of the room. Nobody guessed her reasons for shouting out. 

“Exactly, I’m not being beaten by 4 again, that’s for sure,” Catrina slammed her glass onto the table to emphasise her point.


	8. Careers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was writing a different chapter 8, but Aurin insisted on not being left out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the timeline is a bit confusing. This starts by going back to Halle and Aurin's last meeting during the Victory Tour after the 22nd games. Let me know if this is no longer making sense to anyone but me.

District 1, The 22nd Victory Tour:

When the door closed behind Halle, Aurin felt the weight return. The weight he carried around when Halle wasn’t with him. 364 days a year, sometimes twice as long, waiting for her to come back into his life. She never let him down, always managing to call whilst the victors toured the district or were wined and dined by the mayor. As the number of Victors from District 2 had grown, the less she was missed and the longer the visits had lasted. This time she had been with him all afternoon and evening. He worried she would be found out eventually, but couldn’t bring himself to send her away.

Aurin climbed the stairs from the workshop to his home. His steps sounding too loud in the empty space. He cleared away the dishes from the meal they had shared; straightened the bed clothes where they had made love. Just the cold bath water still needed to be drained away. He bowed his head to pull the plug out as a tear fell, joining the last traces of his wife, sucked out by the forces of gravity. She was gone again.

“Pull yourself together man.”

He went to get a beer from the kitchen and decided to go down to feed the furnace and work on some designs. Keeping busy was the only thing to do.

  


The final night of the Victory Tour, the Victor's triumphant return home, was televised as always. In District 1 most citizens gathered in the town square to watch on the large screens provided by the Capitol. A bonfire had been built to keep the crowds warm through the icy evening; and a couple of enterprising stall holders were selling a home brewed wine and slices of doughy cake. At least the end of the tour meant they had 6 months to try to forget about the Hunger Games before the next reaping. They might as well make it a pleasant evening. 

Aurin stood with a group of friends, watching the screen in the flickering glow of the flames. He looked down at the fruit and nuts dotted through his cake. Traditionally it would be bursting with ingredients, something good in every bite. Not any more though, anything other than the basics was getting harder to come by.

Up above them, in realer than life high definition, the winner of the 22nd game gave her victory speech. Another Amazonian warrior from District 2, she stood within her arc of mentors generally gloating about her District’s prowess at winning, and predicting more of the same.

Aurin found her lack of insight strangely amusing as he sipped on his wine. District 2 had become the President’s killing team, instilling fear in the districts whilst those from the Capitol kept their hands clean.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if you had kids, Aurin.” His friend, one of the jewellers, grumbled at him.

“So what should we do then?” he replied provocatively. He still felt justified in having strong opinions seeing as he was the one who actually went out to try to stop this happening nearly 25 years ago. “Moan and complain and do nothing?”

A young peacekeeper was wandering through the crowd, checking everyone was watching. 

“Aurin,” he nodded at the Goldsmith as he passed the group of men.

All the peacekeepers knew Aurin. It was on the list of commands if stationed in District 1; “keep an eye on Aurin Sheen, known agitator.” However, after 22 years of more stagnation than agitation his profile had changed. The command was now put into action by a peacekeeper calling round for a drink with Aurin every now and then. Some of them weren’t even bad company. 

The jeweller waited until the Peacekeeper had passed by, “We could start training our kids up, like they do in 2.”

“You’ve a long way to go,” thought Aurin, but it was a glimmer of something. His friend was thinking about breaking the rules, standing up for his children; it was a start.

He tipped his head back to let the last drops of rough wine run down over his tongue. “Why don’t you come around tomorrow? I’ve been drawing up some new designs.”

Four men joined Aurin the following evening. Two were jewellers, and two were from the Lux and Ardor families; families where traditionally their people took work as escorts. These jobs were getting harder to come by now. Having a victor as arm candy was more the fashion, but there was still work amongst the lower tiers of capitol society. Aurin thought about Radiance. He hadn’t seen her since she had unknowingly brought his daughter to visit. He wished he had spent more time holding the baby, but he had been too full of grief for Shimmer to see what was in plain sight.

He envied his friends their family lives, with partners to hold close at night and children to care for. 

“Coby must have made it through his last reaping now?” he asked as he settled his companions at the table with drinks. 

The boy’s father nodded without any enthusiasm. Cobalt, was his eldest, he still had 3 more children to worry over.

“Has he got plans?” Aurin took a piece of dried apple from the dish in the centre of the table. He harvested the fruit from a tree he planted at Shimmer’s grave. 

His friend took a long sip before replying. “We’ll have to see what happens when the ‘talent spotters’ come in spring. He’s not going if they can’t promise the old wage and conditions though. I know you craftsmen might look down on us, but it was our profession and most in the Capitol did respect that. But these victors seem to have a different code; it’s undermining what we do.” 

Aurin chewed on his apple, the sweet flavour mingling with the bitterness of his beer. “I could use an apprentice. What do you think? Would Coby like to learn the craft?”

It felt like the first good thing to happen in a very long time for the Ardor family. Coby’s father placed his glass firmly on the table, and stretched out his hand to Aurin. They shook on the agreement. 

“Bring him round on Monday, we’ll finalise terms.” Aurin was glad to be able to do something to help, but knew his friend wouldn’t accept charity.

“So,” Aurin turned to get the other men’s attention. “We all know why we’re here?”

The jeweller, who had dared to voice his thoughts in the square, was the first to speak. “We can’t just keep sending our kids off to be slaughtered in the Hunger Games. The least we can do is make sure they know how to fight, like those beasts from 2.”

There was a knock on the door. The jeweller’s face was fixed with fear, what if someone had heard what he just said? 

“Come in,” Aurin called in his usual affable way. “Sit down, I’ll get you a drink.”

The young man who entered the Goldsmith’s kitchen looked familiar but the men were finding it hard to place him.

“You look different without the uniform,” Aurin explained, pushing the bowl of dried apple towards the newcomer.

The silence grew as the penny dropped amongst Aurin’s friends. It was the young peacekeeper.

“Let me explain,” Aurin started before his friends made to leave. “Jaysen here has agreed to help us.”

“I’m from district 2,” Jaysen took over the introduction, “I was trained by Catrina and her team, but wasn’t picked to volunteer for the games.” 

He sipped his drink nervously, these men were all considerably older and angrier than he was, and he felt exposed without his uniform and rifle. He was starting to regret agreeing to do this. 

“I learnt a lot though, using weapons they put in the arena; survival skills; tactics, like picking allies.”

The men from 1 hadn’t even thought about the things other than fighting a potential victor needed to learn.

“But why do you want to help us?” The jeweller came out with the question they all wanted answered.

“I’m from one of the mining villages. You might find it hard to believe, but life isn’t so great for everyone in 2, even if we are better fed than most. My father died young, from a lung disease. My mother’s back is bent from spending her life stooped over. The spoils from the Hunger Games don’t go as far as medical treatment for miners.” 

The men still hadn’t got an answer. Why would that make this boy risk certain punishment to help them?

Aurin stepped in, “The Capitol has made you suspicious of anyone who doesn’t come from District 1. You’ve never been anywhere else, never met someone from another District, other than a peacekeeper. But I know from my years with the rebels, the citizen’s of Panem are all one people. We need to start helping each other instead of being divided. Jaysen knows that. He’s seen our struggles here in District 1. And, hard though it is for you to believe, he just wants to help us as one human being helping another. Have we been so brainwashed by the President that we can’t accept that anymore?”

  


The plan was set into place over the coming weeks. Jaysen started by telling Aurin and his friends all he could remember from Catrina’s Camp. Aurin invited him over at least once a week, trying to grasp any crumbs of Halle’s life he could. He was aching just to hear him say her name.

“So, were you trained by the Victors themselves?” he asked, offering a glass of home brewed cider.

Jaysen waved it away. He had removed his helmet but was still on duty.

“Some of them,” he hesitated over how much information he should give. “Most of them aren’t around that much. The most attractive stay in the Capitol.” 

Jaysen had realised from talking to Ardor and Lux that this side of life was no secret to those from District 1. He didn’t mention that half the others were too drunk to be much use. Those that did function as trainers were unpredictably aggressive. He had seen a young would be peacekeeper nearly strangled by a Victor before Halle stepped in to remind him this was just practice for the real thing. It certainly helped them take it seriously though.

“There are a few Peacekeepers too; that is what the Training Centre was supposed to be for.”

Aurin’s mind drifted back from images of Halle in her Peacekeepers uniform to the matter in hand. “We were thinking of disguising the training here as extra lessons for would be escorts.”

Jaysen nodded, “The capitol likes its killers to be charming too, we can teach them how to flirt whilst they stab someone in the back.” He laughed at his joke, making Aurin slightly uncomfortable. These were children he was talking about. 

It was a good idea though. Everyone knew you had to work harder to get a good straightforward escort job these days. There were old links between some of the families in 1 and the Capitol, but even these were being eroded by the thrills of sporting a victor. Tastes were becoming wilder, and the escorts were expected to put up with more. They would start to teach the 17 and 18 year olds etiquette and self defence. 

  


The days grew warmer. Apple blossom fell softly on his sister’s grave. Hopefully it would be a good harvest this year. Aurin had brought a group of youngsters for training in survival skills. It seemed fitting to bring them here to try to teach them how to stay alive. 

He held out two handfuls of berries. 

“Hungry?”

Of course they were; that’s why they needed to win the games. They all reached out to take one of the tempting purple fruits.

“Do you know what those are?”

One or two of the group understood straight away and dropped the berry, others just stopped to look and consider, but still made to pop the fruit into their mouths.

Aurin raised his voice abruptly to stop them in their tracks, “Never eat anything if you don’t know what it is.” I’ve seen it in many games now. Poison seems to be a favourite of the game maker to bring the numbers down. It’s always going to be tempting but you have to be strong willed as well as strong armed to win the games. This is where we can overcome District 2. Their Tributes are always going to be better fed and focussed on killing; so we have to be faster and trickier. You have to use your graces to win friends who can protect you in the early days. District 7 doesn’t make friends with anyone, I think they spend too much time alone in the forests over there. District 4 are sociable, they like to tell their stories of the sea; listen and flatter them. District 2 like flattery too. Be there to keep their ego’s up and they might show off their muscles defending you for a day or two.”

He reached into a bag he’d brought with him as he carried on talking.

“We’re not used to fighting here in 1, Jaysen is going to come to teach you some hand to hand moves.” 

The youngsters mouths dropped as he brought out the knives he had made in his forge. Making knives instead of baubles for the capitol, it had passed many a long hour of frustration.

We’ll start just with some holds, but a knife is what you’ll need to find in the arena, if you really want to win. There was no point being soft about this. These children were going to have to be prepared to kill.

He weighed a blade he had made during his first year back in the district in the palm of his hand. He had used copper and iron instead of gold, It wasn’t finely crafted but it was one of his most important pieces. He turned to throw it hard into the wood of the apple tree, wishing he could be out there fighting again. 

Jaysen arrived and Aurin took a back seat. He knew the peacekeeper was much more appealing to the group, their eyes openly admired his young body, taut with muscles under his shirt, and the fierce confidence of District 2 that they had been encouraged by the capitol to esteem since the day they were born. This generation knew nothing else. They saw themselves as second class citizens.

It annoyed him.

Jaysen was showing off, flipping another District 1 teenager onto his stomach and pinning him down, his arms locked back. Aurin recognised the move only too well. He flicked his chin up to gesture a girl over, and whispered quietly in her ear whilst Jaysen soaked up the adoration he was getting from the rest of the group.

“Who’s next?” he smiled patronisingly.

The pretty teenager stepped forward.

“Have you been watching carefully?” He puffed his chest out and stretched his muscles.

She nodded timidly, looking up at him through her long eyelashes.

“I’d go easy on you, but that’s not going to help you for the arena.” Jaysen was in his element, emulating his trainers back in 2. Today he felt like he had been a victor. 

In two seconds he had her down. But, instead of falling, she rolled, drawing her small frame even further into her clothes and twisting he found her hard to get hold of. She was up on her feet again. 

“The tree!” shouted Aurin, unable to stay out of this.

She quickly made it up through the first few branches of the apple tree and sat there panting and laughing.

“So then I would throw a knife through your heart,” Jaysen growled, all gallantry gone.

The laughter stopped.

“But she’s increased her chances, from zero to slim,” Aurin added, wanting to make sure they stayed focussed on the teaching point rather than this becoming personal. 

“I’m sorry Jaysen, but I’ve taken an interest in seeing how District 2 gets beaten. They always win in a direct match of force or fighting ability. But if the tribute can just keep pushing up their odds, outliving the others one by one, they can stand a chance of coming home again.” He wanted to give his students some belief that this could happen. 

Shimmer had been literally shaking in his arms the last time he saw her alive. She knew she was being sent to die. And he knew she had been sent because of him. 

  


The months to the 23rd Reaping passed by too quickly. They had made a start, but were still a long way off ready for this. 

“Plume Peltz” the reaping host from the Capitol called out the name of the first tribute from the glass bowl. 

It was the girl who had run away from Jaysen, a slender seventeen year old from a family of furriers. Her uncle had died in the first games. 

She screwed her hands into fists, until her fingernails were pushed through her skin, summoning up her will to get through this without tears. She could hear her mother’s voice, “Always smile and be a lady, Plume.” She straightened her back, pushed her chest out and flicked her hair over her shoulder. 

“Do it for the camera’s” she whispered to herself and flashed her bright smile to her friends, blowing a kiss to the crowd as she left. Try as she might to keep Aurin’s words in her mind, she knew she was never coming back. 

“Another beauty from District 1,” the host purred. “You really are a most delightful District. Your stylist will be thrilled to see what they have to work with!” 

“And now for the boys,”

“Dazzle Ardor” 

There was a hush. Dazzle was the youngest of the Ardor children. Just 12 years of age. He had not been given any training.

His sisters couldn’t volunteer for him and Coby had aged out of the reaping. Would anyone else come forward? 

“Come along young man,” the host encouraged him. “Don’t worry; I still get a bit of stage fright after all these years. Come and shake hands with Plume. What an honour for you both.” 

And with that the reaping was brought to an end as the broadcast moved on to District 2.

  


“I volunteer as tribute!” 

The crowd in District 4 had known this would happen. Podric hugged his friends and received slaps on the back as he strode up to the stage. He removed his shirt to show off his broad torso with a trident tatood across his heart. His bronze, shoulder length hair was blown back from his face by the breeze that always blew here, bringing the promise of the unknown from over the sea. 

“Oh My,” fluttered the presenter from the studio back in the Capitol. “I think we’re going to have quite a show this year!” 

  


Twelve months later and the young people from District 1 had been taught how to fight, but there was still the sticking point of getting the best candidate into the arena.

“We have to win,”Ardor pledged as he drank with Aurin in the lead up to the 24th Games. 

“As a tribute to my son; we must win. We need to be more prepared this time.”

“That means having volunteers…”Aurin didn’t feel he could put pressure on anyone; man, woman or child, to give up their life. It had to be a free choice. 

The men sat and pondered their own thoughts until their glasses were empty. Aurin refilled them without speaking. Their meetings had become more like this since Ardor’s son was killed.

“We have to win.” Ardor’s half hour of thinking had only led him back to the same statement. 

“We can win. We need to believe that. When we believe we can win, we will get volunteers, and then we will win.” The half hour of drinking was also starting to show in Ardor's circular argument. 

Aurin sighed into the flat ale. “So we need more hope and less fear.”

“Exactly” Ardor raised his glass to the idea of hope.

“But what are you hoping for? To beat your neighbours for the prize of the next meal?” Aurin was frustrated by his friend’s narrow view point. 

“Just to feel we can win something would be a start.” Ardor argued back. “And yes, I would like to feed my family better, is that unworthy in your eyes Aurin, does food mean nothing to you now?”

Aurin raised his palms in surrender. He didn’t want a fight with his grieving friend. He stumbled slightly out of his chair to fetch a half loaf of drying bread and a jar of pickles from his cupboard.

“Actually, I’m starving,” he smiled to lighten the atmosphere, cutting his friend a slice to help soak up the alcohol, before settling back down into their silent company. 

Aurin was also struggling with the growing feeling that he might not see Halle again. District 2 had never been beaten two times in a row. But Podric’s win after volunteering last year had not just been chance. He could sense the mood for change was rising, in the Capitol as well as the districts. This was what they had talked about the last time they met. Was he just going to keep waiting for Halle to take all the risks? 


	9. Taking Sides

A week into the 24th Hunger Games and Columbine was spending yet another night at the club, trying to avoid finding out too much about what was going on in the Arena.

She prided herself on having never watched any live Games footage, a small rebellion against her father’s brutality. During the broadcast Calista and Radiance used to play with her instead, to keep her away from the screens. She had happy memories of hiding in the summer streets of Panem, waiting for her mother to finish counting to 20 and come and find her. It was only when she started school with other children she found out why the streets were so quiet at this time of year. Everyone else was inside watching the Tributes battle to the death. It didn’t make any sense to her then, and it still didn’t.

She had no interest in who was winning the Hunger Games, but, even in the persistent beat of the club, it was impossible for Columbine to ignore the heated argument developing between Catrina and Mags, District 4’s Victor of the 11th Games. 

Catrina downed a glass of something so strong, the smell alone made Halle’s eyes water. Her voice was raised to be heard above the music.

“I think there should be an enquiry into that Lady Mayor you’ve got in 4, the Gamemaker’s ex-wife. I hear she’s been training up volunteers. That can’t be fair; she’s bound to have insider information.” 

Mags scooped back her long auburn hair, creating a bronze river that flowed down the left side of her neck. “So you’re saying that Andronicus Creador is a cheat?” she asked provocatively. 

To call the Head Gamemaker’s honour to account was unthinkable. If the Hunger Games were corrupt then the presidency was corrupt. You just didn’t think these things, let alone speak them aloud. 

A security guard moved closer to the table, alert to the potential trouble brewing. It wasn’t uncommon for fights to break out between the Victors. 

Columbine stepped in to try to smooth things over. 

“Calista was banished to District 4 for being unfaithful to her husband. I can assure you, there’s definitely no information being passed between those two.” 

But Catrina was feeling bitter and defiant tonight. She hated this club with its tuneless music. Hated that she was still expected to come to the Capitol to perform every year. She’d rather be out in the Arena, doing the job she had been trained to do, than stuck here being photographed and posed with these younger, brighter victors. They seemed to have forgotten the glorious way she had become the first Victor, throwing a spear left handed from a distance of nearly 50 metres to hit the boy from 7 in the eye. The gamemakers interfered too much these days with their tricks and mutts. She had won through skill alone.

Columbine found herself in the firing line for Catrina’s bile.

“Oh yes, she’s your mother isn’t she, District 4’s mayor. I expect you’ve got some money riding on it then; what odds do you get for a two in a row win from 4? Nice way to make some extra cash for the Gamemaker’s daughter.” She paused to watch Columbine’s reaction to her accusation, past caring if this was against the rules.

“Maybe she’s sending you a bit of extra fun on the side too?“ Catrina’s lewd cackle was directed at the semi-clothed Podric. A sheen of perspiration had turned him into a glistening Sea-God as he danced under the multi-coloured lights, surrounded by a group of very hands-on Capitol fans. 

Columbine hadn’t slept in a bed since she stayed with Plutarch, nearly two weeks ago. The rinse and repeat club lifestyle was starting to tell on her; and this remark caused her to finally snap. 

“Actually my mother came from District 2, so you should get my support …if I was going to back anyone… Which I’m not.” 

Her voice trailed off. She had just wanted to shut Catrina down, and now it was too late to suck the secret back into her mouth. 

Catrina and Mags both looked at her with a new light in their eyes. Suddenly she seemed more interesting to them. 

“Calista Creador is not from District 2,” Catrina stated the obvious, waving her glass around, the fumes of alcohol too close for Columbine’s liking. 

“Babies were bought to keep the Capitol population up after the war. You know that. It’s hardly news.” She could hear herself making things worse as she tried to back peddle but couldn’t seem to stop her mouth running. 

“The Head Gamemaker’s daughter is from District 2,” Mags couldn’t contain her delight at this snippet of gossip. “Now isn’t that just grand!” 

“It’s fucking hilarious!” Catrina bellowed. Waves of amusement shook her as she revelled in this irony. The spoilt capitol brat, everyone’s favourite party princess, belonged to 2. She’d have liked to see her take her chances in the arena. 

Columbine took the opportunity to leave as the Victors finally had something to bond over. “I’d appreciate you keeping this to yourselves,” she asked, “My father wouldn’t like it to be common knowledge.” 

“And where’s he from then; District 12!” Catrina was folding over in amusement at Columbine’s mundane bloodline. 

Columbine drew herself up to her full height, and looked down her nose as she spoke in her best Capitol accent, “I think you know very well who my father is.” With that she turned and strutted out the door. 

She didn’t let out her breath until she was clear of the club. What had she done? Columbine hated herself for using Creador’s position of power to threaten Catrina, but the fact was she was terrified of what he would do to her if her slip caused him any trouble. 

  


The streets were bustling with the club-goers and general downtown Capitol nightlife, always at its most excitable during the Games season. Tatooing was big this year, inspired by Podric and District 4; skin tints were mostly shades of blue and green with auburn hair of course. There was even more exposed flesh than usual. The Capitol citizens dressed like they were wild, free spirits; because that’s what the stylists were showing and no one wanted to be left out. 

Her friend, Bene was once more the fashionista’s favourite. There was no knowing when, or if, he would come back to his apartment tonight, and Columbine had left too quickly to borrow the key. Maybe she’d finally have to resort to making an appearance at the Creador home. She screwed her face up at the idea and went to get a coffee, in no rush to be within the same four walls as Andronicus. 

  


An all night coffee shop on a quiet side street, hiding away from the attention seeking glitz of the main drag beckoned her. The lights and music were kept low, making it an oasis of calm. She ordered the largest, strongest coffee on the menu, with extra cream and sugar; she planned to stay here for a few hours and let the world pass by.

She didn’t notice him for some time, her attention had been focussed out of the window, but eventually she looked around the shop and recognised the figure bent over his table in the booth in front of her.

“Doesn’t that hurt your eyes?”

Plutarch looked up from his book, somewhat annoyed at being disturbed. He took his reading glasses off and found that he couldn’t make out anything that was more than a few inches from his face; the concerned voice may have had a point.

Columbine slipped over to sit opposite him, surprising him as he finished rubbing his eyes back into focus.

“Columbine,” Plutarch was vexed to find himself once again lacking words in her presence. He had argued himself round to being sure he didn’t feel anything for her, but now she was with him, his tongue wasn’t having any of it.

“Am I disturbing you?” Columbine picked up that he didn’t look entirely pleased to see her. “Sorry, I just spotted it was you reading in the dark. Anything interesting?” she gestured at the book lying open in front of him. 

“It’s an old one, from my grandfather’s library, a biography of President Bloom, the first President of the new Panem, at the end of the dark days.” Columbine’s question had put his mind and body back on safe ground. 

“I imagine things have moved on a lot since then,” Columbine asked. She’d heard that the dark days had left Panem in chaos; no electricity, few crops, the people starving. 

“Bloom did a great job of getting people working together to get the country back on it’s feet. But, you can see how some things never change. Those with power just keep wanting more, until they forget what really mattered to them in the first place.” 

Columbine watched Plutarch as he took a sip from his coffee, waiting to hear him continue. She liked the way he talked.

However, he paused as he looked up from his drink, looking her straight in the eyes for slightly longer than felt comfortable.

“You don’t have any problem with my last statement,” he raised his brows at her.

Columbine hadn’t even thought about it, “No; I think that’s true. People get so caught up in the game, they forget what they’re playing it for.”

He smiled at this, a warm, slightly lopsided smile, that Columbine noticed gave him a cute dimple in his left cheek.

“Spoken like a true Gamemaker’s daughter.” 

His attempt at flirtatious teasing was way off the mark.

Columbine was immediately riled up by his linking her to Andronicus. “So you’re judging me on my parents too. You don’t know anything about who I am!” She stood to return to her own seat where her coffee was waiting.

Plutarch was taken aback by this sudden outburst. He was struggling with what to say, as Columbine, no longer able to enjoy her drink, left some money on the table and walked away.

For the second time in his life, he didn’t think about what to do. Leaving his book, he followed her.

“Columbine!” his voice was drowned out by the sound of traffic from the streets. He broke into a run to catch her up. 

“Columbine, stop,” he panted, as he reached her side. Luckily for him she had only wandered slowly away from the Coffee shop, feeling saddened more than angry. Part of her regretted leaving so hastily. Now she was at a loss for where to go again.

“Please don’t think I’ve judged you. It was a stupid comment. I’m sorry.”

He was so clearly sincere in his apology that Columbine forgave him immediately.

“O.k. You just hit a raw nerve. Can we agree not to mention my father?”

He put out his hand, “Agreed.” He had intended to shake on the agreement with Columbine but instead she wove her fingers through his and held on.

“Let’s just go back and pretend that never happened,” she suggested.

“Sometimes there needs to be a bit of conflict to move forward,” Plutarch blushed as soon as he spoke the pompous words. He was trying too hard to impress her. 

Columbine reached over to hold Plutarch’s arm as well as his hand for support as they strolled back to the Coffee Shop. It was funny how she could dance in these shoes but found walking alongside Plutarch a challenge. “Is that a quote?” she asked, genuinely interested.

  


They talked until the sun came up and the staff had changed shift. The lights were switched off as the daylight streamed through the windows and people called in for their coffee to take in to work.

Columbine now knew that Plutarch was studying Law and Politics, with an expectation he would follow in his mother’s footsteps as a government advisor. His father was a business man, with shares in a wide portfolio, from Cattle Ranches and Oil fields in District 10 to clothing factories in 8. He spent most of his time at the stock market, and wasn’t particularly missed at home.

And Plutarch knew that Columbine understood far more about politics in terms of real life experience, than he did, but still seemed to have not been bored by his company. Although she was now yawning, and leaning into his chest as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

His arm naturally tucked around her shoulder, and he breathed in the apple-blossom scent of her hair, transporting him back to the night she had stayed in his bed. His mind started analysing the situation. It was clear she didn’t see him in a romantic way. Of course she didn’t. He mustn’t make a fool of himself again. But she did seem to like him as a friend. He wanted to be her friend, to look out for her and be there for her whenever she needed him. It would work out fine, he told himself.

Columbine snuggled deeper into his side, and he couldn’t help but take the opportunity to wrap his arm closer around her. She stirred, looking up with heavy lids. 

“Oh…sorry,” she sat back up all at once feeling grubby in her make-up, aware her hair was flattened down where she had been leaning on him. Her mouth was stale with sugar and coffee. The daylight left her feeling exposed and the caffeine was making her jittery.

“It’s been really great getting to know you,” years of watching her mother and Radiance had taught her to always stay gracious. “Sorry if I just made you feel awkward. Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to let me stay again.”

She uncurled her legs and stretched out her limbs, finishing by reaching out for a handshake.

Plutarch returned with his firm, assured grip. He had shaken hands with many government officials and even the President; at least he felt confident that he knew how to do this right. 

“Are you going home?” He wanted to see his friend safely to her destination.

“No,” Columbine couldn’t face seeing Creador yet. “I’ll go to Bene’s, he should be back by now.”

Plutarch couldn’t resist asking if they were together, she seemed to always be headed back to Bene’s.

“No,” she smiled, “he’s just a friend. You can come and meet him if you like?”

They took a cab across town to the artistic quarter where Bene and most of the other stylists lived.

The Avoxes had been hard at work, clearing up the mess from the night before so that the Capitol was once again camera ready. The shining coloured glass and steel buildings bounced rays of light about between them. 

“Just stop here thanks.” Columbine had spotted a kiosk selling fruit. “I just had a craving for some strawberries.” 

They shared the sweet, red fruit as they walked the final blocks to Bene’s apartment.

Columbine pressed the buzzer and a deep male voice answered. “ You woke me up!” He sounded annoyed. 

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t mind really.” Columbine told Plutarch, but he wasn’t convinced.

“I think I’ll leave you here,” he put his hand out again, but Columbine pulled him in for a quick hug.

“He’ll be out this evening, there’s a ‘spotlight on the stylists’ show being filmed. If you’ve nothing else planned, you could come and hang out? ”

  


By the end of the week it was down to District 2 versus District 4 in the Hunger Games. Bene had once again been at the TV studio being filmed with the rest of the District 4 Team, before they headed out to the Club. Once again there was no sign of Columbine. 

“It’s that geeky boy she’s started hanging around with,” he complained to his friend. “She is getting seriously boring.”

“You don’t really think Columbine Creador is just staying in and watching TV do you?” his friend smirked. “You know she doesn’t follow the Games. She’s such a rebel!” he added with heavy sarcasm.

Bene raised his eyebrows, “May be it’s his glasses that are doing it for her.”

His smile twisted into a look of disgust. “You know, it’s not even funny; we have to go and save her.”

Shushing each other they tiptoed into Bene’s apartment. The door to the lounge, where Columbine would sleep on the sofa, was shut. It was strangely quiet, no tv, no music. As he strained his ears, Bene caught a burst of Columbine’s giggling followed by soft murmurs. 

He threw open the door, ready to catch them in the act. 

Columbine frowned at the intrusion, but couldn’t really complain as this was Bene’s apartment. It had totally put her off her next move though. 

“You could take my bishop with your queen,” Plutarch suggested quietly. 

“Oh no,” Bene groaned. This was worse than he’d imagined. 

”You’re teaching her to play Chess! What are you doing to my muse!? You know I only put up with her because she’s a celebrity.”

“I mean I know you always said you’d try anything once, but there has to be a limit!” Bene laughed at his joke, and hugged Columbine as he whispered in her ear, “You should be sharing that sofa with Podric.” He gripped her shoulders and looked her in the eye, searching for the wayward girl who used to be so exciting to be around. 

“It’s finally my year again Columbine. You always believed I was more than a one hit wonder. I need you out there with me. ”

Columbine reached up to cup Bene’s cheek. His dark stubble was rough, prickling her skin. They had been through a lot together, most of it not good.

“How could I say no to you?”

Triumphant, Bene fetched his make-up case and soon had Columbine looking dark and exotic. 

Plutarch had packed away the chess pieces. 

“See you later,” he wanted to sneak off, but had too much manners instilled in him to leave without saying anything. 

“Don’t go,” Columbine begged, batting her eyelids and pouting in a way she had picked up from Calista. “We should all hang out; you and Bene can get to know each other better.” 

Plutarch didn’t look very keen on the idea. 

Columbine appealed to Bene, “You’ve no problem with Plutarch coming along?” 

He sighed, looking at Plutarch with his head on one side. “You’ll have to let me do something with you. Take that jacket off.”

Columbine grinned at Plutarch as he undid his buttons. “Thank you.” 

“And whatever you have underneath it,” Bene shouted over his shoulder as he went to find something for Plutarch to wear. “And pour some drinks.” He added, giving out orders like the head stylist he was.

  


By the time they got back to the club, Plutarch was barely recognisable. They’d streaked his hair with auburn and drawn tatoo’s on his neck and chest. He’d had to forcefully draw the line when piercing was suggested. 

Columbine was holding his hand to keep herself upright having chugged down several shots to catch up with her friends. “Well done for standing up to Bene.” She shouted into his ear. “You stick to being who you are. I think you look better without all this anyway.” 

Nice of her to say, but he did feel more comfortable now he fitted in with the party crowd. It was all very well for someone as naturally striking as Columbine to say it was what’s on the inside that mattered. As someone who was usually ignored, he could feel the power of having the right image. 

Columbine was starting to sway rhythmically, and he was just about to ask if she wanted to go and dance, when the music shut off abruptly. A huge screen at the end of the club lit up with the Panem sign and the opening bars of the anthem. 

Plutarch and almost everyone in the club knew this was going to be the finale of the Hunger Games. Very unusual for it to be at this hour, something clearly hadn’t gone to plan for it to be happening outside of prime viewing time. 

“What’s going on?” Columbine was confused.

“It’ll be the finale.”

“What happens?” she asked sipping her drink through a straw. 

Now Plutarch was confused. They hadn’t talked about the Games. Having agreed not to mention her father, it was a subject he steered clear of; he didn’t realise she had never seen a live finale.

“They’re usually set up to have a dramatic fight to the death. But it looks like the District 4 tribute has been injured. I think they’ve given up.”

Columbine couldn’t help but look at the screen. An auburn haired boy, the inspiration for a thousand Capitol styles, lay weeping on the ground. The camera stayed close to his face to avoid drawing attention to the fact his legs had been blown off in an explosion. 

Columbine felt panicked. “Someone should help him.” She knew it was a ridiculous thing to say, it just slipped out. She hid her face in Plutarch’s chest, not watching as the District 2 Tribute limped over and stabbed him in the neck. It was a very messy end to a young life.

A cheer went up from the crowd of District 2 Victors and stylists, standing by the screen. No-one else seemed to be joining in. There were murmurs of discontent at 2 winning again. Most people had bet on 4. There was an acute awareness that they were dressed in the colours of the losing team.

“Columbine,” Catrina hollered across the room. “We win again!” She rushed over and hoisted Columbine onto her shoulder, before she had a chance to think what was happening. Quickly joined by the other victors, they raised her up like a mascot as they chanted, “Dis-trict-2, Dis-trict-2” and “Col-um-bine, Cre-a-dor.” 

The music had been hastily started whilst the commentators on the screen were still discussing the Days Events in the Games, unaware of what was happening in Panem’s most stylish Club. 

Podric had lost it. This had been his first year as a mentor, to the boy he had just watch die. He came lashing out with his fists, at the District 2 Team. Mags tried to hold him back; until Catrina, having now dropped Columbine, flung herself in with a kick to his groin. Mags grabbed Catrina’s hair and swung her to the ground. The handful of victors from other districts waded into the fight as the Capitol clientele cheered them on. They still loved Podric. 

Plutarch had no idea was happening, but he knew he had to get Columbine away. He helped her up and led her out to get a car back to the Heavensbee home.

The beeping of the security guards headphones could be heard behind them as they followed orders to start making arrests. 


	10. Consequences

The advisors at the presidents table were used to late night sessions, but most had been raised from their beds to attend this dawn meeting at the President’s mansion. Coffee was poured by a silent servant, the pot placed ready for their refills, before he backed away, gently drawing the doors closed.

A screen was projected up from the centre of the table. The morning news was on without any volume, but the headlines flashed up:

“Early reports indicate one dead in nightclub brawl.”

“You think this is of no matter,” The president wheezed, his speech rasping as he struggled to coordinate breathing and using his voice at the same time. He coughed violently until his blue tinged face turned a shade of deep purple; very popular in the Capitol 2 seasons ago. His son, always at his side, poured him a glass of water, and tipped it to his lips. 

“Explain it to them, Coriolanus,” the old man gave his son’s hand a squeeze and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. This was all getting to be just too much effort.

“Shall we let the pictures do the talking?” Snow checked with his father before proceeding.

Snow senior nodded without bothering to open his eyes again.

With an adjustment of the control, the news cast was replaced with footage from the Club’s surveillance cameras. 

Catrina and the mob from District 2 could be seen celebrating their victory, whilst the rest of the room remained almost motionless. 

“Do you remember the speech my father made when he announced the tradition of the Hunger Games?” Snow’s question gently tested the group’s loyalty. “Let me remind you if you don’t have it to hand.”

”Your president declared an annual celebration of strength, ‘Because only through strength and power do we maintain stability’.”

“Would anyone care to argue that point?” The advisors sipped on their coffee, allowing the young man to continue uninterrupted.

“No? … But tonight the citizens were not cheering for our Victor, they were cheering for the loser, the weaker side. Can I ask for your thoughts on this?”

All eyes were on the screen, avoiding Snow’s icy gaze, as Catrina ran over to lift Columbine into the air. 

“Andronicus? It would be good to hear from you at this point, I think.”

The Head Gamemaker had been flattered to be called to the President’s table with the governmental advisors. Athena Heavensbee and her like might think they were superior, but he alone truly understood the influence of the Hunger Games in maintaining order in Panem. 

“My family has always been loyal to the presidency. As you can see, Columbine is celebrating the victory of the strongest. She understands the rules.” 

“A good move,” Snow complimented. 

“We’ll need an interview with her to make that point clear,” Snow senior rasped. “I understand she is still very popular with the young people.” 

Athena Heavensbee held her breath, willing no one to see what she had; Plutarch, standing with the crowd, dressed in the ocean colours of District 4, a tattoo of tridents running down the side of his face and neck. 

The camera followed the scenes of fighting as Podric stunned a victor from 2 with an uppercut to his chin, followed by a punch to the diaphragm, knocking him to the ground. It was impossible for anyone to look anywhere but at the power and beauty on display in the movements of the barely clothed fisherman. 

“He is a wonderful specimen,” Coriolanus remarked coldly, and switched the screen off.

“But, he would be nothing without the grace of our president.” He threw down the control. 

“Restorative action needs to be taken to maintain stability in the Capitol,” Coriolanus continued, no longer looking to his father for reassurance. The advisors realised they were only here to endorse, rather than enter into any debate. 

“We have arrested the main culprits for this unrest; Podric and Mags, the Victors from District 4 and Catrina, our first Victor, from 2, who really should have known better.” 

Snow switched the news broadcast back on.

“Early reports indicate one dead in nightclub brawl,” he quoted from the headline. 

His father finally spoke again, having gathered enough air in his lungs for his question of government. 

“What needs to be decided, is the final headline.” 

  


In a cold white room the three Victors sat on hard metal chairs laid out in a triangle. Their hands were cuffed behind them, ankles chained to the chair legs. All three were bruised and cut, from the fight in the nightclub and also from being taken by the Capitol security. 

A guard watched over them, her large hand gun waiting in its holster.

No-one spoke, as the minutes became hours and the temperature in the room fell, until their breath condensed into droplets on leaving their mouths. Podric wore only a wrap of cloth over his thighs, Mags barely more. Catrina closed her eyes and remembered the cold days of her childhood in the mountains. She had always loved the snow. 

Just when the waiting had gone on long enough for them to grow accustomed to the situation, a message came through on the guard’s headset.

It was muffled but the three victors all heard the single word. 

“Two.”

Catrina started begging as the white uniformed officer pulled her gun free. They had ignored the history between them up until now. Both holding their cards close to their chest.

“Blade, no, don’t do this. You know I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Blade had been forced to retire from service as a Peacekeeper, but, having no use for time to relax, she had enrolled as a support officer in the Capitol Security Force. She was the first to respond when the call came through about a disturbance at the Club. 

She moved precisely over to Podric, lined her gun at his forehead and shot. She had no desire to prolong anyone’s agony.

Mags cried out for her boy; but her chains prevented her from moving towards him. She bowed forward as if the bullet had found its way into her heart. 

“Please Blade. Please, No.” Mags became aware of Catrina’s begging. 

She looked between Catrina and Blade realising they were acquainted, and prepared herself for the end. At least this guard seemed to know how to make a clean kill. 

“Just doing my job.” It was a statement of fact rather than apology. Blade lined the gun up at Catrina’s head, and fired. Another tribute’s life taken by the Games. 

  


“Two”

Snow passed on the message and put down the phone.

“Well done Coriolanus.” His father was very pleased with the way his son was taking control of the situation. It was a weight off his mind. 

“I think I can leave you in my son’s capable hands from here.” He steered his electric wheelchair out of the room. 

Snow turned the volume up on the TV. He added a teaspoon of sugar to his coffee and stirred it with a small circular motion of his hand. At last he leaned back a little, dipping a delicate pastry in the drink, shaking the drops off before nibbling the end. 

“In other news, a late night brawl in a nightclub in the Capitol has resulted in two deaths. The deaths are being linked to excessive drinking and drug use at the club, which has been shut down by security services pending further investigation.”

“Now over to our entertainment desk…”

A colourful presenter beamed at the camera. “I am so excited to be able to bring you an exclusive interview with our head Gamemaker for the 25th Games. Welcome, Miss Artemis Fortuna.”

She was everything Andronicus was not; young, dynamic, irreverent. “Here to shake things up,” seemed to be her catch phrase. 

Andronicus was pale, his mouth had dropped open as he watched the pretender to his throne weave some spell over the interviewer. 

Snow switched off the screen, bored of the situation now. 

“Mr Creador; your services are no longer required.” The phrase dropped off his tongue without ceremony. He did not extend a hand, or even a smile. 

The room was silent; two minutes felt like a day whilst Andronicus waited in vain for something more. Eventually, he realised he had no option but to leave. 

  


Mags had never known cold like this. She was shivering so hard her whole body shook. Eventually she couldn’t hold back the bile anymore and was sick on the floor in front of her chair.

Catrina and Podric continued to sit with her, their faces shot apart, but their bodies held up by the cuffs and chains. The cold had minimised the blood loss, and the drops were now thick and nearly black instead of red.

Mags didn’t want to look, but if she closed her eyes all she saw was their deaths again, and again. If she looked, she could stay in the reality of the here and now. It was terrible, but she had to accept what was done, was done. There was no going back from this. 

Blade had turned and walked away as soon as the bullet was fired into Catrina’s skull. She was tired, glad to be able to end her shift at last. Maybe she was getting too old for this, she wondered to herself. 

When at last the door opened again, there was another armed guard, accompanied by a tall, slender man with expertly trimmed facial hair. He put his hand out for Mags to shake, as though he couldn’t see that handcuffs prevented her from taking up the offer. He stood and waited, unphased, whilst the guard loosened the shackles. His hand was too soft, and cold as ice, despite his having come wrapped in a thick wool coat and scarf, prepared for the temperature in this room.

“Mags Flanagan; I don’t believe I’ve had the honour to meet District 4’s first Victor. Coriolanus Snow; Heir to the Presidency of Panem.”

She hated him as soon as she laid eyes on him. 

“Oh dear,” he remarked looking around at the bodies of her friends as if they were so much untidiness.

“Do you have any idea what happened here?”

She paused.

He interrupted, in his annoying, staged way.” I came to pass on a message. I’m so sorry but you have to return to your district straight away. There’s been some sort of accident. I do hope your family are OK. Going out to sea is always a risky business I suppose. Do you ever get used to it, saying goodbye to your loved ones?”

Mags focussed on his face, committing it to memory as she vowed that, one day, she would exact her vengeance on him.

“Sorry I interrupted. You were saying, about what happened here; any ideas?”

“No, I’ve no idea.”

She held herself together until the door closed and then a wild cry released itself from her soul.

  


The beach was alive. Shingle crunched as it gave way underfoot. Waves crashed in, high and unfettered on the straight stretch of beach, away from the shelter of the coves. 

Radiance had grown to love District 4. She would never even have thought to dream of such things growing up as a Goldsmiths daughter in District 1. The taste of the sea salt in the air, the wind against her skin, taking her breath away, making her feel that, if she only had wings, she could spread her arms out and be lifted free from the hold of the ground.

Calista laughed at her if she ever talked about this feeling of longing for freedom . 

“You have my blessing, oh Radiant one. Fly and be free. I won’t hold you back any more.”

And then Radiance would have to kiss her and reassure her how much she loved her and wanted to be with her. None of which was a lie. But there was something else she craved that was just for her. 

The other good thing about walking in the surf filled air was that it disguised your tears. Everyone assumed your eyes were watering because of the blasts of air. Radiance sometimes wondered if everyone was secretly crying here. There was plenty to feel sad about. It was a hard life, with families separated for weeks at a time, away at sea, quotas to be kept up for the Capitol, and of course the annual threat of the Hunger Games stealing your child. But, the constant presence of the ocean instilled something spiritual into the people. Miracles could happen; a man could drown and be brought back to life if they got to him quickly enough. A dolphin could lead the way to a seam of fish just when hope was lost of any catch at all. 

Mags had no hope left. She left the Capitol thinking her compliance with Snow’s instructions would have saved her family. But his news of a tragedy hadn’t been a threat. Mycle, her best friend and lover for the last ten years, had drowned in a freak accident on one of the calmest seas of the year. Not marrying, no children, it had done nothing to protect him in the end. Just ways she could have shown him how much she loved him, now forever lost. 

Radiance followed the steps hewn into the cliffs, up to the houses built for Victors. They had a wonderful view looking out over the water; westward facing to take in the setting sun’s nightly plunge into the waves. 

The windows were dark at two of the houses. Podric’s home stood empty. His parents and sister had been instructed to leave in the same letter that informed them of his death. 

Mags had drawn the curtains on the world.

Radiance knocked and waited. After five minutes she knocked again. Still no reply. She turned and sat down on the step with her back to the door. After a while she started to thump her hand rhythmically against the wood. She let her mind empty as she watched the sea, all the while keeping up her beat on the door. She could do this forever if needed.

At last she heard the key turn and the door was yanked open.

“Go away,” Mags screamed at her. It was clear she hadn’t washed since she got back from the Games. 

Radiance walked past her into the house. Seeing herself into the kitchen, where the two women had become friends, gradually sharing their stories and dreams over a strong cup of tea. 

She took the kettle from the wood fuelled range and filled it with water. The fire needed building up again. Radiance fiddled about with bits of paper and sticks trying to get it to catch, until Mags couldn’t stand it anymore and pushed her out the way to do it herself. 

“Sit down then,” she instructed Radiance, still sounding irritated, as she took over the ritual of filling the teapot with leaves and putting cups and milk on the table. 

Radiance could see the curdled lumps in the milk jug, and took it to wash down the sink.

Mags snatched it from her, “Just sit down and stop interfering will you. I can do this.” 

She smelled the sour milk, “It’s off, you’ll have to have your tea black,” she snapped.

The lack of milk was the final straw for Mags. She broke down as she watched the foul white lumps clog in the sink. 

Radiance gently put her arms around her and brought her back to sit at the table.

As Mags’ sobs gradually slowed she looked up at Radiance with red eyes. “I hate him.”

Radiance had expected this. Mags had never been one to give in to sorrow. She had won the Hunger Games at 16 to prove a point to Panem, ending the lives of 3 tributes in the process. She wasn’t going to give up on life now.

“This new President Snow, he’s going to be worse than his father. He has to be stopped.”

“Calista says the politician’s might put a stop to it. There are others in the Capitol who thought it was their turn to lead.” She resisted the urge to get up as the kettle boiled, letting Mags take over as the hostess. 

The hot water bubbled on to the tea leaves, releasing their vapours into the air. Mags slammed the kettle back onto the hob.

“That would be the right way to do things, I suppose. But the government has no power anymore. They’ve gone too far off course to know how to put things right again.” 

“I think the people will have to take action.”

“Another war?” Radiance blew on her tea to cool it. She wasn’t so sure, considering how that worked out last time.

Mags nodded and sipped the hot fluid, enjoying the scalding sensation on her lips and the heat of the steam on her face more than the taste. She stood up to fetch some sugar from the cupboard.

“My brother fought in the last war.” Radiance had told Mags about Shimmer being the first tribute to die in the Games, but Aurin hadn’t really come up in conversation before. “He was still trying to fight as a one man army from District 1 when I last saw him.”

Mags looked interested, so Radiance told her about Aurin and the Mockingjay.

“He’s right.” Mags was invigorated by hearing of Aurin’s refusal to give in. “The districts need to join together to defeat Snow. You should let him know, District 4 is ready to fight.”

Radiance hid her smile in her cup. She could picture Mags and Aurin trying to overthrow 5,000 Peacekeepers with a fish-gutting knife and a smith’s hammer.

“I’ll bet there’s people thinking the same way in the other districts too.” Mags had given up on trying to make the tea taste right. She would have to go out and buy milk later. 

“I’m sure,” Radiance agreed, “You can’t starve people for all these years and not expect unrest. It’s the belief that anything can be done about it that’s lacking.”

Mags got up and opened the curtains without thinking what she was doing. She had been avoiding the sight of the sea where Mycle had been lost, but now she wanted to look and remember. She would never forget what had been taken from her, and who was to blame. 

  


The light was fading as Radiance made her way back to the Mayor’s house in the centre of town.

Calista had sent the maid home and grilled the fish for supper herself. To her own surprise she had found she was a good cook, better than Radiance who tended to daydream and let things burn. Years of being fed by the finest chefs had taught her what went well together and how things should taste.

She greeted Radiance with a warm kiss as she returned, breathing in the summer sea breeze that still enveloped her.

“How was she?”

Radiance lingered in the safety of Calista’s embrace, thankful for what she had. 

“She’s angry; really angry. Breathing smoke and fire furious.” 

Calista nodded, “Do you remember how angry you were when Shimmer was killed? I do. I’ve never seen you so filled with rage.”

Radiance twined their fingers together. She felt ashamed to recall that she had nearly lashed out at Calista that day. “I know; I was looking for anyone to blame. But Mags isn’t like that. She knows exactly what she wants to do. She’s out for revenge against the new President. It’s definitely personal.” 

That piece of information was a bit too loaded for Calista to know what to do with it. She wasn’t stupid, but she’d learnt that she needed time to put her thoughts together, or she would tend to say the wrong thing. 

“Come and eat,” she steered the conversation to safer shores, “ I’ve cooked the most wonderful fresh fish and lovely little potatoes in flavoured oil. Let’s open a bottle of wine.” 

Radiance let her guide her through to the dining table, laid prettily with a candle in the middle.

“Is it a special occasion?” It felt like she was missing something.

Calista opened the wine and poured them both a large glass.

“A letter came for me whilst you were out. An invitation, for me to visit the Capitol.” 

Radiance didn’t understand. They had been banished to District 4. Complicated legal work had been put in place to ensure they had no further contact with Columbine. 

“I’ve been invited to attend Andronicus’s funeral.” 


	11. The Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out with so much catching fire in it, I hope it doesn't bother anyone-it just happened that way! It is a fanfic after all. Plubine/Columbarch is going rather Everlark too, I can't help it, they're my number 1 romantic influence. Let me know if you think I need to try harder to keep it more original. I'm off to the districts for chapter 12, so I will have to come up with something new.
> 
> Whilst I'm giving credit where its due, I should probably say the subtitle-Every Fire Needs A Little Bit of Help, is a line from a Chumbawamba song, it kept going through my head whilst I was writing the last chapter, and seemed apt to this story.

Back on that fateful night at the club, as the fight was getting into full swing, Plutarch whisked Columbine away to the safety of the Heavensbee house. 

Athena was leaving as they arrived, called to a meeting with the President. There was no time for her to fully express her disdain at seeing Columbine with her son again, so she just gave a quick jab at his make-up, “Wash that stuff off, you look ridiculous,” and slammed the door behind her.

Plutarch took Columbine to the large family kitchen to make her a coffee. An old, curly-haired dog dozed in his basket under the table. After a couple of small wags of the tail, he decided they were probably worth the effort, unfolded his old bones and padded over to be petted. Plutarch expertly rubbed behind his ears until his legs turned to jelly and he rolled over on the floor, all dignity lost as he begged for his belly to be worked on. Columbine was happy to oblige; she had always wanted a dog. 

“You’ll be ok here with Seymour,” Plutarch smiled as his two favourites got acquainted. “I think I will go and wash this off. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

Columbine enjoyed the unexpected oasis Plutarch had brought her to, running her hands through Seymour’s soft coat as he pressed his heavy head into her lap. At a time when she would have expected to be running, she had found a place where she wanted to stay. The clock ticked and the coffee smelled good. It was all so calm and civilised and nothing like her own home, or Bene’s place for that matter.

The dog’s tail started beating on the floor even before Plutarch came back in the room. 

Out of habit, he switched on the TV to see what was on the news.

“One dead in nightclub brawl.” 

The peace was taken away. 

“I’m not quite sure what happened back there,” he gently asked, switching the screen off again, and refilling his cup.

Columbine decided she needed to tell her story as far as she knew it herself. That she wasn’t the gamemaker’s child. She belonged to a rebel fighter from district 2.

Taking his glasses off and rubbing the lenses on his shirt, Plutarch quietly considered the new information. Somehow it didn’t surprise him. He had always felt there was something different about Columbine. 

“I accidently let it slip to Catrina and Mags the other day; that my mother was from District 2. And now someone is dead.” She felt she must be in some way to blame for what had happened. If Catrina hadn’t lifted her on her shoulders, if they hadn’t been chanting, things might not have got so out of hand.

“You didn’t cause the fight Columbine. The people were angry because they wanted district 4 to win, because they’re the flavour of the season. And everyone’s a bit sick of District 2 always winning. Your father…Creador, should probably do something about that.”

Plutarch’s straightforward analysis of the situation was more reassuring than any soft words would have been. He was right; District 4 had been expected to win again. Bene’s District 4 inspired fashions had been in vogue all year.

“Bene!” What if the “one dead” was Bene. People wouldn’t be happy that they had been so taken in by his styles. She had seen the tide turn quickly in the past when a favourite was killed.

Plutarch took her back once again to use the telephone in the Heavensbee’s study with the family portraits looking down their noses at her. But there was no answer to her call.

“I have to go and check he’s ok.”

Of course Plutarch insisted going with her. At first they thought he must be asleep, but there was still no reply as their knocks grew more frantic, and Columbine put her mouth to the lock and called his name. A neighbour came out, but he was no help.

“Keep it down, my mother’s trying to get some rest.” 

Finally Columbine admitted defeat. Plutarch persuaded her she needed to go home to get some proper sleep. They decided to walk; Columbine had always taken as long as possible to get home, even as far back as the walk home from school, she would linger and chat and look for invitations to someone else’s house. Somewhere she could pretend that life was happy and normal and she wasn’t scared of her father and worried about her mother all the time. So they walked and chatted about anything and everything apart from what had happened in the club; and whether Bene might be dead.

She found her key at the bottom of her purse and let them into the house. The doorway led directly into an entrance hall, decorated in Creador’s preferred colour, deep red, with an ornate chandelier to show off the indulgent ceiling height. 

That was how Columbine and Plutarch had discovered his body, hanging from the light fitting. With no one else around to blame, Andronicus Creador had been left with no option but to dish out the final punishment for failure on himself. 

  


Columbine straightened the lapels on her jacket and took a last look in the mirror. 

“Do I look O.K.?” 

Plutarch waited for her at the doorway to the room, giving her space, whilst still being there if she needed him. His steady presence over the weeks since Creador’s death had kept her from running. She had nowhere to go anymore. All the nightclubs in the Capitol had been closed down following the disturbance. 

“Perfectly funereal,” he replied. He was also dressed in a smart black outfit, tailor made for him last week. 

“You look nice in a suit,” Columbine noticed as she chewed on her fingernails, her feet still not ready to move. 

Plutarch could see he was going to have to help her through this day. He came over to take her hand. “The car’s waiting. We have to go now.”

Suddenly, it was hard for Columbine to draw enough air in to her lungs; it really didn’t feel like she was breathing properly, but Plutarch got her out of the Creador family home and into the car, even remembering to pick her bag up for her on the way. The more panicked Columbine felt it seemed the more calm and confident Plutarch became. 

“Why do you think he’s done this?” she whispered as the car drove slowly through the streets of the Capitol. With Plutarch’s help, she had been arranging a quiet ceremony and cremation for her father. But President Snow’s assistant had contacted her to say Andronicus Creador would be having a televised formal send off with the president’s blessing. They’d delayed the funeral for a few weeks so it didn’t seem linked to the deaths at the club. The presidential speech-writer had provided her with some lines to say; how well he’d raised her, how much she’d miss him, that sort of thing. She was scared stiff she was going to suddenly blurt out all the family secrets in front of the whole of Panem. 

“I think he’s going to make some sort of announcement, something that people won’t like, but will have to suck up out of respect at a funeral.” Plutarch gave Columbine’s hand another squeeze. “I’m pretty sure we will just be background noise amongst all the high officials.”

The reassurance started to work. He did seem to understand all the manoeuvres of the politicians. 

“Thanks,” Columbine leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek, “For everything. You’ve been a better friend than people who have known me for far longer. The best friend I could have.”

The smile she gave him actually made her skin glow, the frown lines that had settled on her since finding the body, wiped away for a moment. Plutarch’s heart broke a little bit more. He knew she would never love him the way he had fallen for her. He had tried not to, until he realised it was too late anyway, and gave in to the sweet torture of unrequited love. 

The car paused whilst, slowly, the gates to the grounds of the mansion opened for them, revealing the grandeur of the president’s home. Armed Peacekeepers were patrolling and the car was stopped twice during the journey of yards to the drop off point. Columbine was shocked to find they were asked to pose for photographs on the steps, before being allowed in to the reception. Creador’s funeral was going to be the society event of the year. 

“He’d love it,” Columbine still hardly dared raise her voice above a whisper as she shared her thoughts with Plutarch. All her father had ever wanted was to be envied.

Staff from the mansion guided Columbine and Plutarch to their seats. She was upset to find they were separated, Plutarch placed next to his mother, whilst she was to sit at the head table. It appeared the new President Snow wanted Columbine and her father’s replacement, Artemis Fortuna, on either side of him today.

Artemis gave her a nod, before carrying on scanning through her prompt cards. Columbine had been trying to forget about this part of the day. She took a drink from a passing waiter, and looked out at the sea of faces seated in front of her. Plutarch was at a table in the middle of the room, but she could tell he was still keeping an eye on her. She smiled at him and immediately felt more relaxed. She had been brought up for this very purpose after all. To look good on camera, and act as a distraction for whatever unpleasant things were going on. 

“They’ve changed the speeches a bit. Just read what it says on your cards,” Artemis indicated the blue cards in front of Columbine’s seat.

She straightened her back and put her glass down. Best to keep a clear head. Her eyes landed on another familiar face on a table not far from Plutarch. Calista; her mother. Columbine couldn’t believe it. She looked a bit different, maybe she’d gained some weight, but it was definitely her. It was cruel to have her so near yet know she couldn’t just go over and be hugged by her mother’s arms again. 

Another boring official had the seat next to her mother. Radiance obviously hadn’t been invited. That would have been a step too far, considering she was blamed for the break up of the Creador’s marriage. Columbine was desperate to go and talk to Calista and find out how they both were.

Before she could try signalling across the room, President Snow’s arrival was heralded by everyone standing up. Feeling uncomfortably aware that all eyes were now looking in her direction, she turned her face away from the other guests, to look at the young man who had moved in to take his father’s place as the head of the country. There was a whirring sound as a camera lens zoomed in to start filming. This was being broadcast live to the nation.

Snow tapped his knife against his glass and indicated that everyone should sit back down.

“Today we are gathered to bid farewell to Andronicus Creador. The head gamemaker, chosen by my father, to run the pageant of the Hunger Games. He ensured it was always a tournament filled with passion and excitement, a showcase for the best of Panem. But most importantly, always a fair fight. It is only right that we honour him.”

He raised his wine glass, signalling for the officials and friends and family members scraped together for the show, to raise their glasses in turn. A string quartet played quietly stirring music as an ornate casket was carried into the centre of the room. It was lifted on the shoulders of victors, one from each of the districts who had managed to win; 2, 4, 7, 9 and 10. For most it was their only victor. Mags’ muscles tensed beneath her black silk blouse, as she held her hands high to support the edge of Andronicus Creador’s coffin. She was too short, next to the other victors, for it to reach her shoulder. Her face was deadly serious.

Columbine’s heart went out to her. She had heard the news of Podric’s death in the disturbance for which she felt partly responsible. Podric had been like a younger brother to Mags, annoying her with his youthful enthusiasm for the Capitol lifestyle, but she would have defended him to the end. 

The victors placed the casket on a stand in front of the head table.

Snow lifted his glass a little higher, “Andronicus Creador. For your services to Panem, we salute you.”

The room followed their leader’s action in drinking and sitting back down.

Snow indicated to Columbine with a nod, it was her turn to speak.

Still getting her head round the thought that her father’s dead body lay just metres away from her, Columbine used the table to push herself up to her feet. She had a feeling Creador was going to jump out and everyone would join in with him in a joke at her expense. But of course that wasn’t going to happen. She had seen for herself, he was definitely deceased. 

She rubbed her sweating palms on her jacket and picked up the blue cards. She was hyper aware of everything, her hands were shaking and her voice sounded strange. She just hoped her nerves would pass for grief. 

“As the head gamemaker’s daughter I was always raised with the values of the games. To use my strengths to their fullest as each of our districts use their strengths; district 1’s eye for beauty, the minerals of 2 and 12, the crops grown by District 11. But the real strength is seen when we put Panem first, above district, above friendships, above family.” 

“She’s doing very well, Athena Heavensbee whispered to her son. I don’t think she realises what a precarious position she’s in.”

“My father devoted his life to the Hunger Games. With his passing, the baton must be passed over to a new generation to keep the message alive. The strongest will survive and Panem will stay strong.” 

The words on the cards had finished here. Columbine wasn’t even quite sure what she had said. Not that it mattered. She just wanted to get this funeral over and done with. She was about to sit down, when she saw Mags face. It was changed from the woman she used to see in the club. More drawn and closed in. Here was someone who had really known grief. Columbine felt like an imposter taking sympathy from anyone over Creador’s death.

“I would just like to add, on this day of mourning, to the families of our victors, Podric and Catrina, how sorry I am for their loss.”

The room had been quiet throughout the speech, but Columbine could somehow feel the silence intensify. If she had listened hard enough, perhaps she would have heard the gasps from a Goldsmith’s kitchen and a Peacekeeper’s quarters far across Panem. Their daughter was a rebel after all.

Mostly Columbine was aware of the cold glare of Snow’s eyes on her. 

She turned to him to ask what she should do now. He studied her face for a second, then smiled, and raised his glass again, and waited for Columbine to give the toast.

“To my father.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The room downed its wine, grateful for something to break the tension.

Lastly, it was Artemis’ turn to speak. She stood with poise and self assurance, not needing to use the cards having already memorised the lines.

“Today brings the end of a chapter in our nation’s history. For twenty four years Andronicus Creador led the team that brought you the Hunger Games. And here we stand, myself, Columbine and President Snow; all witness to the importance of this pageant. Born after the war, what would we know of the importance of maintaining order if not for the games? The Hunger Games has ensured our generation never forgets the mistakes of the past. And so now it is our duty to continue for the next generation of Panem. It is a true honour to have been chosen to succeed Andronicus, especially to mark the 25th Games. A quarter of a century of peace under the leadership of our Presidents Snow, requires celebration. Andronicus had the foresight to think of this. For every 25th Year, he had created a special games called a Quarter Quell. Cards deciding the theme of the Quarter Quell were drawn up back at the beginning of the Games. And now we shall have the very first drawing of the card!”

“Columbine would you please take the honour of choosing the card for the first ever Hunger Games Quarter Quell.”

Obediently Columbine picked a card and turned it over, as if taking part in some magic trick.

“Please read it Columbine…”

Columbine tried to steady her voice for this most serious of announcements.

“During the war, the population of Panem fell to dangerously low levels. Children died because of the rebel’s decision to initiate violence. As a reminder of the dangers of making an unwise choice, this year each district will hold an election and vote for the tributes who will represent it in the Arena.”

Before people could digest what they had heard, Artemis raised her glass,

“Andronicus Creador, creator of the Quarter Quell, a true visionary.”

More wine was drunk in the gamemaker’s name, and then began the murmur of voices discussing the unexpected announcement.

Columbine was certain Creador hadn’t come up with this idea. It was far too complicated for him. Snow’s message was clear, the people were calling for a chance to vote, well be careful what you wish for! Columbine looked for Plutarch again, wondering what he would make of all this. Before she could get his attention, a hand took her elbow firmly in its grip. It was the new president himself.

“Please, come with me Columbine.”

He nodded to Artemis, who left the table as the strings started up again. She took the hand of the victor from district 10 and together they started a slow dance around the coffin. Since the disturbance, nightclubs had been banned and this old style of dancing was being brought in as the preferred way to spend an evening in the capitol.

Snow led Columbine to a small drawing room, set up with cameras. It reminded her of the set used when the Victor of the games was interviewed, and sure enough, thought Columbine sourly, here was the usual presenter ready to interview Panem’s newest victor, Coriolanus Snow.

Columbine sat beside him with her hands folded, keeping her face as neutral as she could.

As the interview drew to a close, the camera panned out and Snow turned to Columbine. To her surprise, he thanked her for remembering to mention the loss of the victors’ lives in the recent nightclub disturbance. He looked back at the camera and reassured the citizens that he had personally overseen a crack down on the use of recreational drugs in the capitol and that numbers of peacekeepers were going to be doubled throughout Panem. 

Snow shook her hand and left to attend to some other business, whilst Columbine went to collect her father’s body from what was turning into a rather strange party, with people drinking and dancing around the casket.

She spotted Calista, engrossed in conversation with Plutarch. Columbine couldn’t help but wonder if they were talking about her, and what they would be saying if they were. She started over to join them, but immediately a guard blocked her path. She had to stand and watch as Calista kissed his cheek and smiled in her direction, before leaving, escorted by an armed guard. Plutarch looked a little flushed as he came over. Before she could speak, he bent down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. She had never seen him blush so hard as he was when he stood back up. 

“Your mother asked me to pass that on to you.”

Tears she hadn’t felt at the death of her father welled in her eyes. “I had nearly forgotten how much I missed her.”

Plutarch’s shoulders were broader somehow in the suit, and she rested her head on him whilst she watched the proceedings. 

Artemis was demonstrating how to waltz. All at once Columbine realised what was happening, and had to stifle a burst of amusement. Snow had got them dancing at her father’s funeral. 

“The next best thing to dancing on his grave!” she blurted out. It was a shame Calista hadn’t been allowed to stay for a turn around the casket.

  


The sun was low in the sky as the smoke from Creador’s body finally floated away to join the rest of the polluted air of the Capitol. 

Columbine and Plutarch walked aimlessly around the grounds of the crematorium, looking at the plaques and memorials people had chosen for their departed. It had grown into one of the rare peaceful spots in the city, with trees overhanging the paths, the leaves dappling the warm autumn light.

A bench placed under a late flowering cherry tree invited the pair to stop and linger.

There was still a faint drone of traffic, but the sound was dampened down by the foliage. Chirruping of birds added to the peaceful feeling. They felt safe enough to stop and sing.

“Your mother asked if I could pass on a message to you from Radiance. She asked if you could possibly send the Mockingjay back to her brother now, but tell him they sent it from District 4.”

Her eyes flew up to Plutarch’s face, wondering how much he understood about this. She knew he was too clever to miss that this message was a loaded weapon.

Her hand reached under the lapel of her jacket, into the hidden pocket where she had tucked her pin away.

“This is the mockingjay.” She whispered, her fingers still curling protectively around it. Quietly she explained how she got it and what it meant.

Plutarch looked at the beautifully made pin. “I don’t think you should ask to leave the capitol just now, after what you said at the funeral.”

Columbine was a little confused, it seemed a very long time ago since she had given her speech.

“Saying sorry to the Districts for anything; it was pretty out there. Especially a gamemaker’s daughter saying sorry that tributes have died, whilst standing next to President Snow!”He couldn’t help laughing at the sheer audacity of what she had done.

Columbine’s face was tinged with pink at how naïve she had been. But she also felt a little proud of herself. She might have done it by accident, but maybe this was something at last she could be proud of. It was a nice feeling too, seeing the admiration in Plutarch’s eyes.

“It just seemed like the right thing to say at the time,” she smiled, but her laugh faded as she pictured the Victors being made to carry Creador’s coffin. 

“Snow won’t forget that. You’re on his radar now. But he trusts my mother; she’s always made sure to stay close to the President.” He plucked at a blossom that had fallen onto his trousers.

“I could protect you Columbine.” His voice grew lower and he shifted around a little, nervous at getting so close to telling her how he really felt. 

“Let me go to district 1 for you.” He begged, longing for the chance to do something meaningful for her.

Columbine watched the blossom gently sway on the tree and tried to work out what was for the best.

“You can’t go for me, Plutarch.” She made him look her in the eye. “But, if you are willing to go for the sake of the mockingjay, then that would be OK. Think about it, carefully.” And then because he just looked so good and sweet she couldn’t help but put her arms around his neck and lean in tight to him, not realising how that completely wiped out all she had just said. He would do anything for her right now. He let his hands rest on her back, feeling ungainly and awkward against her petite frame. He wondered at himself, how had he ever had the nerve to just kiss her in the street. It was hard to believe that had only been a couple of months ago. It felt like he had spent his whole life being in love with Columbine Creador.

The idea came to him then; with Columbine in his arms and white blossom in the air. He realised how he could go to District 1.

“What is it?” Columbine had felt him pull back a little. She could hear his heart racing.

“I don’t know what you’ll think of this, but I know how I can do it. It’s my birthday this month, I’ll be 18. How would it be with you, if I bought you an engagement ring?”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look of pity or disgust that would surely be on her face.

The pause was too long. He dared to look. Columbine’s face was nothing but serious. It was her chess face he thought, recognising the way she chewed the skin inside her cheek when working out a move.

“I think that might work. They’d let you go for that.” She was watching him closely, not sure if this was asking too much; but there was no other way she could think of. 

“You’d have to persuade your mother though. We need her on our side.”

“I’ll do it,” he promised, looking away as he added, “Sorry, it’s wasn’t a very romantic proposal.”

She reached up to place her hands on either side of his face, wanting to make sure he knew how much this meant to her. “Plutarch, you offered to risk your life for me. What could be more romantic?”


	12. Meetings

Artemis motioned to the musicians to hold their bows whilst Columbine and Plutarch escorted Creador from the room. Peacekeepers wheeled the casket away on its stand this time, leaving the victors free to socialise with the gathered dignitaries.

“You know black really suits you, with your beautiful red hair,” the Head Gamemaker accosted Mags, and tried to guide her towards a group of middle aged men in suits. 

“Just as well; I’ve had a lot of funerals to go to recently,” Mags wasn’t in the mood for making friends, especially with gamemakers. Artemis might be trying to be different, a new breed, but Mags had been around too long to be taken in by a pretty face.

The new breed didn’t miss a beat though, “It’s been a rough time for you Mags; we’re going to have to make sure we look after you this year. Have you thought about staying in the Capitol, instead of going back to 4? It might be easier for you.” Quite the actress, Artemis managed to appear genuinely concerned for Mags’ well being.

It was all Mags could do not to raise her fist to the upstart. 

“I think I’ll be needed at home, if we’re going to have an election.” She made an effort to stay civil in her tone.

“Oh yes,” Artemis sounded like she had already forgotten the shock news of the quarter quell. “That should liven things up a bit, make it more of an even playing field. It happened just at the right time.” She gestured to a waiter to bring them drinks.

Mags couldn’t even be bothered to play this pretending game with her. She nodded and brought the conversation to an abrupt end. 

“Excuse me, could you show me to the bathroom?” she asked the waiter, turning down the glass Artemis was thrusting at her, and followed his directions out of the Presidents banqueting suite. 

  


The bathroom was just a short way along the corridor. No guard on the door, but a servant, probably an Avox, was watching her. Once inside she put the lid down and took a seat whilst she waited for a sign. Nothing happened. Not even a spider or a fly. The water in the cistern gurgled a little, until it made her feel she had to use the facilities, seeing as she was there.

She pushed her trousers over her narrow hips without having to undo the button. There on her thigh was the knife she had strapped on this morning. A gutting knife, short and thick, with a serrated edge for sawing through the gristle. It had started to rub a mark on her skin. She loosened it and tucked it into her sleeve where she could get hold of it more easily. Mags finished using the toilet and went to wash her hands, just as the Avox came in. She had been in there for quite a while and the President’s servant had probably come in to check if anything untoward was going on. She smiled and dried her hands thoroughly, taking her time applying hand-cream whilst the Avox watched. Eventually she turned and left her to it again. When Mags finally followed her out, the corridor was empty. 

It was going to have to be her choice today, no more guidance was coming from the universe. “Well, why not?” Mags decided in a heartbeat. She had nothing to lose, and her day needed livening up.

With no better plan, she walked confidently up the corridor as if she knew where she was going. The double door at the end was heavier than she had expected, heavier than she was anyway. Leaning in with her back to push it open, she couldn’t see where this was going to take her.

It was dark, and the floor was uncarpeted, just clean white tiles. She found herself in a stair well, a cold draft blowing up from the lower floors. It reminded Mags of the room where Catrina and Podric had been shot. She couldn’t deal with that, so she headed upwards, away from the memory that still haunted her dreams. 

“How far up?” Mags wondered as she kept going round and round the winding flights. She thought about the steps up to the top of the lighthouse where her grandfather kept watch with an ancient telescope. She and her brother used to time themselves, from the bottom to the top and back again, little guessing this would help to make her fast enough to run from the District 2 tribute on her first day of the Hunger Games. 

The only thing to do here was to keep going to the top. To the top, or until she was stopped. It was the sound of someone coming down that forced the issue, so she pushed on another set of double doors to escape. These were lighter than the first set she had come through, and the unnecessary force she used made her plummet through, landing on her knees on a plush red carpet. Mags gasped at the softness of the fibres. She couldn’t resist. There was only one thing to do. She took off her shoes to get the full effect on her feet, burrowing her toes deep into the wool. Crazy to think people had carpets like this, when there were children in District 4 who had never owned a pair of shoes. But she couldn’t deny, it was a wonderful feeling. Totally wasted on the shoe-wearers. 

The Capitol people had thought she was so quaint when she refused to wear shoes for the tribute interviews. A skinny, freckled, red headed girl from District 4. Dressed by Bene, the child fashion prodigy, like some kind of ocean goddess with swathes of sheer fabric in shades of turquoise and gold, looped over with strings of pearls. She hadn’t cared what they thought. Her grandfather had told her he’d seen the albatross flying home on the day of the reaping and she knew she was going to win the games. The wearing of shoes would not come into it.

  


Engrossed in the carpet, Mags had temporarily forgotten what she was doing, when the sound of his voice came from the next room. Surely it wasn’t going to be this easy? She took the knife from her sleeve. But, at the same time she could hear someone in the stairwell behind her. With nowhere else to hide, Mags flattened herself against the wall behind the door, just as it was swung open by a kick. She stifled her ouch as it hit her forehead, and was relieved to see the back of a waiter walking briskly down the corridor with a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hands. Too busy to look back, he went straight into the room where Snow’s voice had come from. She could hear him now, boasting about the fine vintage of the wine that he was having opened in honour of his companion.

From what Mags could hear, the unseen companion was someone from the government, an older man she’d guess by the deep baritone of his voice. They were talking politics. The baritone was trying to give advice. With his father unconscious, but still living, he cautioned it was too soon for Coriolanus to be taking so many decisions without consulting the advisors. He suggested that Snow should perhaps join them at the meetings to learn a little more about the more mundane day to day requirements of good government before putting himself forward as president. 

“Your father has been a great leader, kept a steady course through some very dark times, and there has been no reason to look for an alternative. But even he was voted in all those years ago. To just hand the presidency over; it’s not constitutional.”

This point of view clearly hadn’t gone down well with the younger man.

“The name of Snow gives people security. This is not time for change. The districts have no idea how to run a country. If we let the people try to decide, we will be heading for disaster. Let’s see how they manage voting for tributes for the quarter quell.“ 

The baritone was trying to cover up his annoyance, “We wouldn’t have to let the districts vote. Just the Capitol citizens, or even just the Senate. Perhaps it is better to leave these decisions to those who understand what the country needs.”

“ You’d be putting yourself forward I assume.” Snow’s tone was sneering.

“Well…” The baritone gave a fake hearty laugh. What fun they were having these pair of suits deciding what was best for the men, women and children of Panem. 

The tension was broken by the sound of a cork being pulled out.

“Here’s to a bit of healthy competition. May the strongest survive?” Snow had been doing a lot of toasting today, Mags thought.

He must have indicated for the waiter to leave them, as he came shuffling backwards out of the room. With reflexes honed in the Hunger Games, Mags slipped through the door and dashed to the stairs, her bare feet making little sound as she spiralled down again, so fast she felt dizzy, counting the doorways to the ground floor.

She pushed against the double door, remembering how heavy it had been. It didn’t budge. She pressed it with her behind, her best muscles were in her backside. When it still didn’t open, she desperately ran at it and tried to ram it with her shoulder.

“Fuck!” It wasn’t moving.

A hand tapped her on the shoulder. Instantly, the knife was out of her sleeve and at the waiter’s throat. 

The waiter shook his head, his eyes remaining remarkably calm. He placed his hand on hers and lowered the knife. Taking her by the elbow he led her through another door into an area where glasses were being put through a dishwasher, filling the air with steam. A look from his face to her hand indicated she should drop the knife now. Mags realised he was another, Avox. Snow clearly liked to make sure his servants stayed quiet. 

He directed Mags through the hot, damp air of the utility room, out into a grey, concreted yard. Two peacekeepers were chatting at the wall. He nodded to them to indicate Mags should be let out. Without even pausing their conversation, some gossip about a colleague, a small service door was opened and Mags was let free into an alley at the back of the City Circle. 

  


Her auburn hair made her conspicuous on the bus across town. Since the disturbance, everyone had dyed themselves serious shades of black and grey. Even here amongst the lower tier of Capitol society, clothes were now mostly white, a show of subordination to Snow. She couldn’t have looked more out of place if she’d tried. She didn’t care; she pitied the capitol citizens following the trends, caught up in the way things looked so much they missed what was really going on. She wondered what signs she would follow if she had been born in the capitol. There were hardly any naturally growing plants, definitely no shoals of fish or dolphin pods, but there were always still birds, nesting up in the tops of the buildings and insects finding shelter in the cracks of the bricks.

The polluted capitol air made for the most amazing sunsets, purples and vibrant reds she never saw cast over the ocean in 4. The colours had brought Bene to mind. She wanted to catch up with her stylist whilst she was in the capitol; check he had come out of the disturbance ok. There would still be time to pay him a visit before the train to District 4 left. 

Mags hopped down at the stop near Bene’s apartment. There was a bar on the corner where the stylists often met, but she thought she’d go straight to his place first. There was no answer to her repeated knocks but a red faced man came out of the apartment next door . He came with a smell of spirit. Mags recognised the smell, something that Catrina used to drink.

”You looking for Bene too?” He slurred, his eyes dragging up and down her body. 

Mags wasn’t scared, his reaction times would be slowed by the alcohol, “Yeah, is he not around?”

“Not seen him since the disturbance at the club. You think he was involved? Lot of people been knocking on his door.” He gave Mags a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

The official death count had been left at two, but having seen what happened to Catrina and Podric, she was worried.

“Is there any way I could get in? I’ve left some stuff here.”

“Stuff hey,” the drunk was trying to be cute with her. “You should have asked me, I’d have taken good care of your stuff.” Mags sighed with frustration. 

“Tell you what, you could probably climb across the balcony at the back if you like?” He swung his door open for her to come through. 

The apartment was dark and littered with bottles and food cartons. “You live alone.” It was just an observation but he seemed to take it as a come on.

Her flesh crawled as he ran his hand over her arm and grabbed her wrist.

“It’s just you and me for the next few hours anyway,” he tried to kiss her, grabbing her face as she turned away.

Mags drew herself in, making herself as small as she could to loosen his hold, before twisting free, a hard kick to his balls had him bent over, another to the head had him on the floor. He looked up, confused to see Mags taking off her blouse, to reveal her porcelain six pack. Her small breasts covered by a black crop top.

“You like it rough,” he slurred rolling onto his knees to get up.

She slammed him back down, tying his hands behind him with the blouse.

“Not really, no.” She put her foot on the side of his face. “But the most important thing is; I like to be asked first.”

It aggravated Mags that he didn’t look bothered. He was just watching her.

She went to the kitchen, in the same place as Bene’s, and found a roll of plastic bin liners.

As she turned back he’d managed to sit up and was trying to loosen his hands.

“I’m very good with knots,” she sneered, having no worries he would be able to get free from the ties she made, strong enough to withstand the forces of the ocean winds.

She started ripping the bags into strips, continuing her lecture. “Just because a woman comes into your apartment, doesn’t automatically mean you can touch her.” She tied his hands again with the plastic and wanting to provoke him, removed her trousers too. His mouth hung open, so she used them to gag him.

“Even if she takes her clothes off, it doesn’t necessarily mean you have permission to fuck her.”

She used the rest of the plastic strips to bind the man up, tight enough to last a few hours, but cause no lasting harm. Well, she hoped it might leave a small psychological scar. But he seemed to be taking it a bit passively, she suspected he might be enjoying it.

As she was leaving, she noticed a picture pinned to the fridge. The face was very familiar. She tore it off and took it back to her captive.

“Who’s this?” she demanded.

He couldn’t speak for the mouth full of material.

It was frustrating, but she had to know, so she pulled out the gag.

“That’s my mother.”

She gagged him again. “Make sure you send her my regards.”

  


It was easy to cross over from this apartment to Bene’s using the balconies that looked out on a small courtyard. The French windows weren’t locked; Bene had always been free and easy about who passed through his property. The apartment was a mess, but that was nothing new. It would have been more suspicious if it had been tidy. He’d been trying on clothes, leaving them all over the furniture trailing from his bedroom to the lounge. The only thing that was out of the ordinary was a chess set neatly boxed on the side; that was strange. At the sight of the bathroom Mags let out a scream that she quickly swallowed again, feeling silly. It was red hair dye, all over the bath and towels. She couldn’t help but start to rinse and scrub at it. It was stained on, been there too long to wipe off. He hadn’t been here for weeks, probably since the finale of the Hunger Games. Where would he have gone?

She gave up on cleaning and had a look in the fridge. Just beer, mixers, and some out of date eggs.

The ruined towels and rotten food she disposed of in the rubbish chute before folding the clothes and leaving them in a neat pile on Bene’s bed. Mags liked things kept in order; you had to live that way if you were out at sea for a month with only a few feet of boat to call your own. A quick browse through Bene’s walk-in wardrobe found her a dress from two seasons ago (“Practically vintage!” -She could hear Bene’s voice as she chose it). Bene was happy to let his companions wear his creations, “as long as they’re worn with style” his only rule echoed through her head. With that in mind, she added a white flowing cape to bring the look up to date. The spare key was in the plant pot on the balcony as always, so Mags locked the French windows and left at the front, avoiding another encounter with the son of the woman who had killed Podric.

  


Through the night, the train sped across the barren landscape between the Capitol and District 4.

Mags met Calista at breakfast as they neared the coast.

“Did that feel like revenge?” she asked.

Calista laughed as she sipped a cup of hot chocolate. “The funeral? Not really, though I was glad to have been there, to make sure it was true. No, this feels like revenge. To eat and drink what I like, wear what I want, and come home to Radiance. That’s my revenge.”

Mags wasn’t sure that would be enough for her. “Not for me. I still want to see Snow suffer, for me to feel satisfied.” It wasn’t a good feeling, being so angry most of the time. 

“We’re trying to get a message over to Aurin in District 1, let him know there’s people in 4 willing to fight against the president.” She dipped the end of a sausage into her egg yolk, enjoying the sight of the sunshine yellow bursting free on the plate.

Mags couldn’t face eating, but gulped her sweet hot tea. “Do you really think we could do it? Bring him down?”

“Maybe, if there’s enough will. But, you know, this new Snow’s not all popular with the Capitol either. I spoke to Athena Heavensbee at the funeral. They’re still hoping for some diplomatic way to stop the presidency being handed over from father to son. A peaceful solution would be best."

Mags recalled the conversation she had overheard in the mansion. She wouldn’t hold out much hope for anyone in the Capitol stopping the new Snow from getting whatever he wanted.

For now she would just have to go back to District 4 and watch for the signs.

  


Catrina had been buried in a grave at the Peacekeeper’s Training Centre. She never did make it home again. They were building a statue in her honour to stand in the grounds. Halle had suggested it needed a glass in its hand, but everyone thought it was in poor taste to joke about her. She hadn’t been joking; it just didn’t look like Catrina without a drink.

Blade had left a few years back, and now, with Catrina gone, Halle was left on her own as the ‘old guard’ at the camp. The only one to have fought for either side in the war. It was time for a change. She decided to speak out when the victors met as they always did before the new school year started, to get ready for the new recruits.

The main concern was Snow’s decision to double the number of Peacekeepers. It didn’t look like the Capitol was going to be providing many more, which meant District 2 was going to have to meet the quota. Applications for the training centre had been falling as it was. People were starting to think that maybe the glory of being a peacekeeper wasn’t worth giving up your family for.

Halle had to speak out about this. “You have to stop sterilising the female Peacekeeper’s. It’s barbaric. And unfair. The men aren’t stopped from spreading their seed around.”

The looks from the Victors were pitying. She could tell what they were thinking, “Who is this old lady suggesting that life in Panem should be fair?”

“She does have a point,” The Victor from the tenth games spoke out. “We need to keep the population up to keep the baby peacekeepers coming through. We may be breeding out the best fighters by cutting us out the gene pool.”

It wasn’t quite how Halle had been looking at it, but the argument backed her up and appealed to the tough minded group in a way her emotional plea couldn’t.

Another voice spoke out. “I don’t see why anyone should be allowed to opt out of being a peacekeeper. Let’s make it mandatory for all 18 to 25 year olds to serve. Then they can go back and work in the mines or whatever else it is they want from life.”

Halle kept quiet for the rest of the meeting as it was decided that all from District 2 would now have the honour to serve in the Peace Force. But the women would no longer be sterilised. The mayor would give the announcement tomorrow.

Pleased with their decisions, the group started to break up. Halle caught the attention of Mort, the Victor from the third games. Catrina’s first success story. He was now the most senior Victor.

“I’d like to go back into active service.” Her history as a rebel had all but been forgotten at the Training Centre.

“I think I could give more through serving in the districts now, than training. There’s plenty of others who’d like a chance to stay here in two. I’ve no family ties left. It was only Catrina who wanted me around for some reason anyway.” Halle knew she was risking her only chance to see Aurin on the tour. But one day a year wasn’t enough anymore, it was settling for less, and that wasn’t the way to move forward. Most of all she wanted to be freed from a life governed by the seasons of the Hunger Games.

“OK.” Mort considered her request. “I’ve heard there’s been unrest in 4 since Podric was killed in that brawl. I’ll put in a transfer order to have you stationed there.”


	13. What He Wants

The morning after the funeral, Plutarch came down into the kitchen to find his parents giggling together by the toaster. He rolled his eyes at Seymour, who gave a sympathetic wag of the tail in return, and went to pour himself a coffee.

“We didn’t hear you come in last night, you must have been out till the early hours,” his father started trying to lay down the law. 

His mother joined in, as they warned him about Columbine being a bad influence, going to mess up his studies, taking them for granted; blah, blah, blah. He couldn’t stand it when his dad came home after a visit to check on his interests in the districts. They’d be all over each other for a day or two, and nagging him seemed to be the only way they could stay on the same page. 

He got himself a bowl and filled it with cereal to eat whilst he waited for them to finish. Athena finally noticed he hadn’t said anything yet.

She came over and brushed his fringe back from where it flopped into his eyes.

“I am proud of you really, the way you’ve stood by Columbine as a friend through this hard time; but school starts again next week and you need to be getting the top grades if I’m going to get you onto the government advisor programme. I don’t want people thinking you’re there just because you’re my son.”

“Because that wouldn’t be right would it, for someone to get a job just because of their family connections?” He refused to blink or let go of his mother’s eye contact, whilst he took another spoonful of cereal and crunched loudly.

“Plutarch, shush, don’t even say it as a joke.” His mother worried about this new rebellious side he was developing. She turned to his father, “You see what I’m dealing with, Hector.”

“It’s what people are saying though,” Plutarch was surprised to hear his father take his side. “The old Snow kept things running smoothly. It was all about keeping the system working, maintaining the status Quo. He understood you had to look after the workers, a bit of give and take. These quotas Coriolanus has put out for oil and meat and everything as far as I can tell; well, he’s going to exhaust the supply if he’s not careful.”

Athena plonked herself down and poured a coffee. What they said was right, but this new Snow wasn’t about to give up the power now he had felt it. She knew that look in his eye. He was ruthless, and she knew it was better to stay on the right side of this man.

“He’s young, inexperienced. It’s going to be our job to guide him whilst he learns the ropes. But you can’t deny his determination. You know if you back him you’re on to a winner.”

“I was going to invite him over for dinner, when it’s your birthday,” she continued, turning to Plutarch, “he wants to get an angle on the young people in the Capitol, what makes them tick. Imagine the honour, to have the new president here for your 18th. It’ll be something to tell your grandkids.”

Plutarch had been wondering how he was going to bring up the proposal. This seemed like as good an opportunity as any, they were in a better mood than he’d seen for a while.

“I’m going to ask Columbine to marry me.” He had imagined it coming out a bit smoother than that. Said out loud the words sounded ridiculous even to his own ears.

Athena’s coffee cup dropped into its saucer, the hot brown fluid spilling out and scalding her hand. She sucked the burn. 

His father was trying to laugh it off, “This is a joke, right?”

“No…” His explanation was cut off by the phone ringing.

Athena, got up to answer it, “Wait for me,” she commanded.

Plutarch obediently returned to his breakfast, glad the phone call had given him a chance to think again. There hadn’t been any other way to do it; he had to get to District 1 as soon as possible. Columbine couldn’t risk carrying the mockingjay around with her anymore.

“You’re pretty smitten by this girl?” His father tried to get alongside him. “Seems you’ve done pretty well there; not often a boy like you gets attention from someone like her, I’ll bet.” Plutarch’s studious nature had always been a bit of a let down for Hector who was something of a player himself. “Take her out; take her to bed,” he gave Plutarch a manly pat on the shoulder. “But you don’t have to marry her…You’ve not got her pregnant have you?” A look of realisation dawning on his face. 

“No, it’s not like that.” Plutarch was hating every second of this man to man chat.

“I want to protect her,” Plutarch couldn’t stand his father reducing his relationship with Columbine to being ‘smitten’.

“She’s in such a vulnerable position now, with no family in the Capitol.”

His mother returned to the kitchen, stone faced. Plutarch continued his explanation for both his parents to hear.

“You heard what she said at the funeral, standing right next to Snow. I don’t think she has any idea how that will have gone down.” Buster came over and licked his hand, sensing he needed some comfort.

Athena cut in, “That’s exactly why you mustn’t do this; you need to stay away from her. She’s too risky.” His mother was trying to appeal to his logic. But where was the logic in abandoning Columbine?

“It’s too late; I am already too involved. I’m going to ask her to marry me on my 18th birthday.” He set the date as he spoke. It was starting to feel like this was really going to happen. “And you are going to support me.”

“Plutarch,” Athena pleaded, “You have no idea what you could be getting in to. That phone call, it was more bad news,” she looked at her husband, “Homer Falcon, the chief advisor, he died in his sleep last night. Went to bed early after his meeting with the president, complaining of stomach pains. He never woke up.” She emphasised each of the last 4 words for Plutarch’s benefit. He seemed to be suffering some sort of brain malfunction, as far as she could see. 

The news only strengthened Plutarch’s resolve to keep Columbine away from Snow.

“You remember that night I came home dressed like a full on District 4 supporter? You told me I looked ridiculous? Well, you were right.” 

Athena couldn’t help a smile, when did her teenage son ever say those three little words to her?

“You were right, it didn’t suit me, but I was dressed like that because I was there, at the club during the disturbance.”

This wasn’t news to Athena, she had seen him on the footage shown in the presence of the two Presidents Snow. The most powerful and dangerous men in Panem.

"And , you know ,” he continued, “I don’t think the truth is being told about what happened that night.”. 

“What!” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, surely he wouldn’t be so foolish. It must be Columbine’s influence. From the moment she saw those silver stockings in his bathroom she had known this girl was going to mean trouble for her family. 

“If you don’t support me in my engagement to Columbine I will go live on television to tell what I saw happen in that club.” 

“No one would risk airing that.” She fired back. 

“I wouldn’t tell them what I was going to say until it was too late. I think entertainment news would snap up an interview with me and Columbine. It can be about our engagement, or it can be about what we saw in the club.” He could give as good as his mother in an argument.

“It would be suicide Plutarch, I’d definitely lose my job, we’d lose everything.” A vein was pulsing in her neck. She reached out a hand for her husband’s support.

“I know. That’s why you’re going to do what I ask.” At last he had silenced his mother. “I am going to marry Columbine.” That wasn’t actually the plan, but he’d kind of got carried away with himself now. “I need to go to District 1 to buy her an engagement ring, a proper one, that everyone can see.” 

His mother’s face was frowning, but she wasn’t screaming at least. For once he was glad his father was here, this could have been ten times worse. The reunion sex must have taken the edge off her stress levels.

Hector massaged Athena’s shoulders, “It’s ok,” he reassured, “It’s a good match. Plutarch Heavensbee and Columbine Creador; government and games united. Snow will like it, a bit of gossip to distract from all his other dealings.” He nodded over to Plutarch, “He wants this girl, let him have her.”

Plutarch doubted he really meant any of this, but it would do for now. “You’ll take me to District 1 to choose a ring?” His father had a clearance visa to visit the districts, and could easily fix the paperwork to take his son. 

Hector arched an eye brow, but agreed to the plan. They would leave on Saturday. 

Plutarch poured another coffee and put the two cups on a tray with some toast. 

“Columbine stayed over last night by the way,” he threw in as he left the kitchen. 

Apart from anything else, he had really enjoyed shocking his parents for a change. 

His confidence ebbed again as he climbed the stairs back to Columbine. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, and a pair of his socks. It had nearly been too much for him spending the night sleeping next to her. Only he hadn’t slept, he had clung to the edge of the bed, afraid of how much he wished he could touch her. 

  


Time shrank and Saturday morning came around before Plutarch had been able to formulate any more of a plan. He would just have to work it out once he got to District 1, a thought that made him uneasy. He usually preferred to know what he was going to do. Although that had gone out the window recently.

He looked over at the reason for his life being turned upside down. Columbine was feeding Seymour some tidbits of meat from the fridge.

“Are you sure you’re going to be ok staying here?” he asked her again. She had found a key for Bene’s place in her room at Creador’s and decided she felt more at ease in the stylist’s apartment than her father’s house. 

“Doesn’t it worry you that someone has obviously been in? Bene would never have left his clothes piled up on the bed like that.” He didn’t like to think of her here on her own. 

“I expect lots of people have a key to this apartment, just like I do.”

This was no reassurance at all.

“You could stay at my house…” 

“Just me and your mother? Hmmm; maybe not!” 

“I think she likes you , really.” 

“Don’t tell me lies,” she growled at him playfully, in a way he found irresistible. 

But he took a step back as she approached him, terrified he was going to let slip his feelings for her. 

His dog followed at her heels, loyal to the both of them now. 

“Seymour will look after me, until you come back.” She would have been lying if she said she wasn’t worried though. Lines creased her forehead as she thought about the risk Plutarch was taking. If anyone recognised the bird on the pin as a mockingjay, they would be bound to start asking questions.

Plutarch was going over what he had to do. Find Sheen, give him the mockingjay, which he made, so he wouldn’t need that explaining. “And tell him his sister in District 4 sent it, because there are people there who want to fight too. Does that sound right?” 

“You could mention that I never heard anything of Halle Stone. I’d like him to know I tried.”

Plutarch didn’t know this part of the Mockingjay’s history, so she told him of the love affair between the Goldsmith from District 1 and the Peacekeeper from District 2; brought together by the rebellion and now separated by Snow’s regime. “He made the pin for her, so she’d know he hadn’t given up.” Although she’d known the story for years, for some reason, today it made her feel like crying. 

“Just come back to me, ok?” She wished she could go herself instead of being left behind worrying about him.

Plutarch looked at his watch, though he already knew, it was nearly time to say goodbye. “The train leaves in about an hour, and I’ve got to get to the station.”

“Time for a quick game of chess?” She light heartedly suggested. The imminent parting caused nervous energy to tingle through her body. She took hold of Plutarch’s hand and wound their fingers together restlessly.

“No, no time for chess.” His face was deadly serious behind his glasses and fringe.

She couldn’t stand it any more. “Plutarch, do you know what my favourite fruit is?”

The question came out of the blue, but he had the answer. “You like strawberries.”

She had thought he would probably know.

“It’s a new thing actually, my taste for strawberries. Do you know why I started liking them?”

“No…” he replied hesitantly. She’d got him on that one. There were maybe still a few things Plutarch had to learn about Columbine. 

“Do you remember you kissed me on my birthday?”

The heat rose straight to his cheeks. Did he remember? He thought about it every day.

Columbine continued to wind her fingers in his as she talked. “Strawberries remind me of your kiss.”

He had frozen.

“Thank you, for always being so good to me.”

He still couldn’t seem to swallow, let alone say anything.

So Columbine leaned in and pressed her lips to his. But Plutarch hung there, not moving.

It started to feel uncomfortable, maybe she’d misread him. She was 6 years older than him after all. 

Embarrassed by her mistake, she pulled back. Plutarch stood there with his fists clenched, his cheeks now the colour of strawberries too.

“I’ll have to go, to get the train.” He stammered.

He patted the pocket where the mockingjay was fastened inside his jacket. “I’ll make sure it gets to the goldsmith, Sheen, I promise.”

Columbine realised he really was just doing this for the rebellion. Of course that made her want to kiss him all the more. “Just come home safe Plutarch.” 

She didn’t watch as he left, bending down to pet Seymour to avoid any more awkward interactions.

On the other side of the door Plutarch suddenly snapped to. That hadn’t been a dream. She did just kiss him, and he’d done …nothing.

He turned round and knocked.

“Hi, did you forget something?”

Plutarch came in, shut the door behind him and stood there. He couldn’t look her in the eye. 

“I don’t want you to think about me when you eat strawberries.”

“Oh, ok.” She looked confused, and hurt, though she was trying to hide it. He was completely messing this up.

He pushed his fringe back. “I want you to think about me when, I don’t know, when you see a lightning storm, or when the wind nearly blows you off the roof of your apartment, or…

…he had no idea how to do this, his kissing days had mostly been a few years back, when he’d first tried alcohol and kissed his friends, before his reputation as a book worm was sealed.

He wanted to kiss Columbine the way he thought about in the night. So she’d know how he felt about her. He had to go for it, now or never. Slowly his hands found their way to cradle her face, whispering over the warmth of her cheeks before resting on her hair. He buried his fingers into the soft curls. Looking into her deep brown eyes, he gave up resisting, he wanted to drown. With a deep breath he leant in and kissed her hard.

She tensed with surprise at first but then yielded, parting her lips for him to taste. She let out a breath into his mouth. He swallowed it in, his tongue following the path back with a groan. Her mouth was soft and moist and hot, everything he had longed for.

Columbine smiled as she kissed him back gently, letting Plutarch take the lead. 

She had been kissed hundreds of times by so many hungry mouths, feasting on her reputation. This was so much better. So carefully he ran his hand down from her hair to her waist and then her hip, pulling her in close. He circled her tongue with the tip of his tongue, and the almost silent sigh he released told of something she had yet to experience. He was holding himself back from her, each touch a question to which she answered, yes, before he took more.

Finally too short of air, he released her lips, but continued to place kisses on her face. His eyelashes fluttered over her skin, sending a ripple of expectation through the creamy skin of her neck down into her chest.

Her hands fisted in his jacket and pulled him close again, impatiently reaching up for his mouth to be on hers. She had only ever wanted to escape, but now she had found her destination.

At last they paused, something telling them they were running out of time. But for Columbine and Plutarch, the world had changed during those minutes of kissing behind Bene’s door.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, mostly to himself.

“I know” she replied. And that seemed to mean much more than Plutarch meeting a train.

Awkwardly, he twisted to open the door, whilst trying to keep her in his eyes, until the very last moment. 


	14. Fathers

“Another quiet day.” 

Aurin tried not to read too much into it, but business hadn’t been up to much for a couple of months. He wondered if the President’s ill health was causing people in the Capitol to be more cautious with their spending. Though, if the funeral for Creador had been anything to go by, the new guy wasn’t against a show of extravagance.

He noticed his apprentice, Coby, looking like he had the weight of the world on him. “Don’t worry, there’s always ups and downs in trade. It’ll pick up again.”

“Can you still afford to keep me on?” He voiced the worry that had been waking him early over the last few weeks. The anniversary of his brother’s death had left both his parents low again, and the sense of doom that filled his home was contagious.

“You’re tied to me Coby, the paperwork is legally binding, apprenticed for 4 years. And I wouldn’t want to lose you, you’re doing a great job.” He came over to put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. He knew he must be having a hard time at the moment. However many children were killed in the games, it couldn’t prepare you for seeing a relative being put through that ordeal. 

“Your sister is 18 this year, right? The vote is going to work in her favour.” No-one would be cruel enough to nominate another Ardor child so soon after Dazzle’s death. “This time next year she’ll be beyond the reach of the Hunger Games.”. He tried to stay positive. Someone had to.

But Coby shook his head. “If you have a family, there is no getting beyond the reach of the Hunger Games. I would much rather have been reaped than see what happened to Dazzle.”

Aurin really did understand this only too well having watched his sister’s slaughter, but he knew it was not time for pointing this out. Coby had every right to feel aggrieved, and he had broad enough shoulders to take it, if he needed to direct some anger his way.

He started tidying away for the evening, whilst Coby swept the floor with rough, quick strokes, jabbing at the boards as though they were threatening to get up and attack him too.

“So what did you make of what Columbine Creador said?” Aurin tried to move the conversation on; and he could never resist a chance to talk about his daughter.

“Well, she seemed very genuine…” Coby hadn’t spent quite as long as Aurin considering the subject. 

Aurin began to deliver his thoughts on how brave, if not rebellious, Columbine had been to apologise for the tributes deaths. If people like her could gain some power in the Capitol, then maybe there could be a chance for change without another war. 

Coby was used to hearing Aurin’s views on the way the country was run. He admired the old soldier for standing up for his beliefs, but couldn’t join in with his determination that things really could be different. The Capitol controlled the Districts, and trying to fight against the system would surely only make things worse.

Highlighting his silent argument, a Peacekeeper walked in without knocking on the door.

Jaysen removed his helmet as the heat from the furnace closed around him.

“You know there are people from the Capitol just arrived in town?” he interrupted Aurin’s speech, just as he was warming up. “They’re at the jewellers looking at engagement rings, but rumour is he wants something hand made for the occasion. Might be some business coming your way.”

With the necessity of real life cutting short his dreams of equality, Aurin went upstairs to make sure he looked the part. The Capitol customers never liked to be reminded that sweat and grime might be involved in producing their pretty things. 

“Thanks,” Coby spoke shyly to Jaysen. “You just saved me from a lecture on ‘how things could be better if we all stood up to the Capitol’.”

“He’s not a threat to Peace in Panem is he?” Jaysen postured with his rifle, clearly having no real worries about this. Aurin’s thoughts on overthrowing the government were a bit of a joke amongst the younger generation in District 1. 

“He just never got over the war ending, still thinks he’s fighting some battle that he can win. I think hearing the Gamemaker’s daughter say something in support of the Districts stirred up his fighting spirit, that’s all.” Coby replied, staying loyal to his mentor. 

Jaysen lowered his weapon and gave Coby a stern look, “Seriously though, its one thing supporting you all in getting a fair chance in the Hunger Games, we all need to eat; but I can’t be seen to be a part of plans to overthrow the government.”

Coby peeled off the thick, protective gloves he always wore around the workshop, and tucked them into his belt. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” He went to pour himself a glass of water and offered one to the Peacekeeper. It always got too hot by the furnaces, especially through the summer. He accepted the drink, but avoided Coby’s eyes as he gulped the cool liquid. 

The workshop was always in order, Aurin ran a tight ship, so there was nothing more Coby could do to prepare for the customers. Just put on his best District 1 charm. Jaysen’s peacekeepers uniform didn’t really fit in with the simple but stylish work shop. “Should you be here when the customers call?” Coby gently hinted.

He just pulled his shoulders back and turned his face into a glower. “I’m a peacekeeper, I’ll make them feel safe amongst the district rabble.” He marched over to the door to greet the visitors, as if this had been his only reason for visiting the goldsmith. 

Coby positioned himself by the workbench, hoping Aurin wouldn’t be long coming down again. He always said it was important not to be too ready to please, making them wait a bit made them value his time more. 

“They’re coming your way,” Jaysen whispered from the door. 

There were just two men from the Capitol, and Coby realised he knew one of them, the older one. He hoped it wouldn’t make Mr Heavensbee feel awkward. 

Coby introduced himself as apprentice to Sheen, the Master Goldsmith, and offered them a seat and a drink. 

Jaysen was still standing to attention in the doorway. “Do you always have an armed guard?” Heavensbee commented, “Has there been trouble out here?” 

“No Sir, no trouble. The Peacekeepers patrol daily to ensure the safety and well being of the citizens is maintained.” 

Hector smiled at the standard response, this lad knew the rules. He liked that about District 1. Life was so much easier if everyone just got on and stuck to the script. He gave Jaysen a small salute and raised his glass in his direction. “Keep up the good work soldier.” 

“He’s not technically a soldier,” Plutarch spoke for the first time since arriving at the goldsmith’s, immediately wishing he hadn’t bothered opening his mouth. Unnecessarily quoting facts was something he did when he was nervous, and he knew it irritated his father. 

Hector ignored his son and spoke to the far easier company offered by Coby. 

“So how long have you been apprenticed here?” 

Coby explained he’d just been taken on the previous summer, straight out of school. “It’s a real honour for me to be trained in the craft. I come from the Ardor family originally.” The look that passed between Coby and Hector was missed by the tightly wound Plutarch. Coby hoped he’d done the right thing, letting Mr Heavensbee know he’d been recognised from his visits to Coby’s aunt’s house. 

At the top of the stairs, Aurin frowned. He was going to leave it a bit longer to come down, but the atmosphere was not as relaxed as he would have liked. It was unusual, citizens on a trip out from the Capitol were generally in better spirits. He needed to get things back on track. He came bursting down, his feet on the wooden slats standing in for a drum roll to announce his arrival. Time for the show. 

However, after introductions, Aurin thought it best to get straight down to business. The boy buying the ring looked too young and nervous; he didn’t fancy his chances at getting his proposal accepted. Best make sure they pay up front. 

In his favour, he had chosen a good gemstone, a beautiful dark red garnet with a fine lustre and a star-shaped luminosity. And now he wanted it set in gold. But he didn’t have the ring size. 

Aurin was used to the Capitol clients being fussy and difficult to please, but this Heavensbee boy was just clueless. He could tell his father was looking annoyed too, and seeing as he would probably be paying, this really couldn’t be going less well. The boy, Plutarch, had gone pale and asked if he could use the bathroom. Then Coby decided to pipe up. Aurin felt like banging his head on the table, the apprentice knew he was supposed to stay in the background whilst Aurin interacted with the clients. 

“If Sir would like, the Peacekeeper and I could escort you to look at some of the other sights in District 1, whilst your son works out what he wants. It’s clearly a very important decision for him, and we wouldn’t want him to feel rushed into choosing something he isn’t happy with. There’s no extra charge for time at this stage in the process.”

They all understood what was being offered. A visit to his aunt’s house, next door to the station; where those who hadn’t been able to find regular escort work in the Capitol offered their services to Peacekeepers and business men passing through. Aurin could add the cost into the price without it being noticed. It seemed a bit of a gamble to Aurin, but Coby knew what he was doing, and Hector jumped at the suggestion. “Tell Plutarch I’ve gone to have a look round whilst he makes his mind up. I’ll meet him back here in a couple of hours. We need a break from each other.”

  


Plutarch took his glasses off and rested them on the side of the basin whilst he splashed his face with water to try to cool down. He checked the mockingjay for the hundredth time since leaving the Capitol that morning. How could he possibly pass this on to the Goldsmith, and say his messages, with his father there. He hadn’t spent this much time alone with his dad for years, and they had discovered they really had very little in common. Hector had started drinking on the train, talking to anyone at all, rather than trying to sustain a conversation with his son. 

He took a deep breath and focussed on Columbine. She believed in him; he could do anything for her, walk right into the goldsmith’s furnace if needed.

He swept his fringe to the side, using water to keep it in place, and put his glasses back on. He just needed to stay calm, there was no rush.

And just like that, as though just thinking about Columbine had been enough to make things work out, he returned to find Aurin on his own in the workshop.

  


He explained to Plutarch that Coby had taken his father to find some entertainment as designing an engagement ring would be a long process. He took out his soft pencil and paper to start sketching some ideas. Plutarch could see why the people of District 1 were known for their charm and discretion.

“Thanks,” he said, wondering if it was safe now to bring out the pin.

“So tell me about the girl, the person you’re going to propose to. You don’t have her ring size…but tell me what she’s like, her interests, what sort of style she would go for. He sharpened his pencil with a knife and looked earnestly at Plutarch, poised to receive some inspiration.

“Is it private here?” Plutarch had to check first.

Aurin went to lock the door. “It is now.”

“She sent this for you,” he whispered, “from your sister. There are people getting ready to fight in District 4.” Plutarch carried on talking whilst he fumbled inside his jacket, unpinning the brooch to cradle in his sweating palm.

Aurin held his breath in disbelief as the mockingjay flew back into his sight, after so many years.

“Who gave you this?”

“Columbine. My…” he didn’t know what to call her, she wasn’t his girlfriend, not yet his fiancée, but after what had happened before he left she was more than a friend. “My intended.” The old fashioned phrase fitted well.

A smile gradually spread across Aurin’s face, so broad until it broke forth as laughter. Delight removed all the weight and woes he had been carrying inside him. His little bird was still singing.

Plutarch held it out for him to take. 

“Welcome home,” he whispered. “Tell me the message again.” He listened whilst turning the pin over in his fingers, criticising some of his workmanship, the tail was maybe too long.

Plutarch repeated all he knew, that Radiance had asked for the pin to be returned to him. She was living in District 4, and people there wanted him to know, they too were ready to fight back against the regime.

“And what about you?” Aurin was one step ahead. “You from the Capitol. What do you think?”

Plutarch blinked. His heart was racing still. He hadn’t been able to see this mission going as well as it had. But it seemed it wasn’t going to be finished with so easily.

Before he could answer, Aurin got up and switched the furnace down.

“You know what. I think I need to buy you a drink if you’re going to propose to Columbine Creador.”

Plutarch mistook this as a reference to her party girl reputation. “There’s more to her than you may realise,” he quietly defended the woman who held his heart.

“Ok son,” Aurin patted Plutarch on the back, “I’m not disrespecting her. I want to congratulate you, that’s all.”

He liked the way Plutarch had been ready to stand up for Columbine. Maybe he had been too quick to judge this youngster.

  


A Couple of hours later, Plutarch was feeling more than a buzz from trying to keep up with Aurin’s capacity for ale.

He’d passed on Columbine’s message about Halle, and that had set Aurin off on tales of the war and how wonderful Halle was. And then he grew melancholy. “If you really love this girl, Columbine, don’t let her out of your sight. You have to hold tight to the people that matter. Never lose sight of that, whatever else is going on.” Aurin spoke from bitter personal experience. 

A shiver rippled down Plutarch’s spine at the thought of Columbine alone in Bene’s apartment. No one knew what had happened to Bene. Other people were going in. It wasn’t safe. He wanted to get back to her.

He pushed the glass of fizzy, strong beer away from him. “How long will the ring take?”

Aurin gave him a look that indicated he didn’t like to be rushed. But he could see there wasn’t the usual spoilt expectations of the Capitol in Plutarch.

“I just want to get back to her as soon as I can.”

“Well, we’ll have to guess the size,”Aurin raised his eye brows as Plutarch blushed at having missed this basic point in buying a ring. “Maybe you could bring her back to get it adjusted?” Aurin’s heart started to beat a little faster now at the thought of seeing his daughter in the flesh again.

“I don’t know if she’d be let out of the Capitol. You saw her speech at her father’s funeral?”

His current favourite topic! The two men had another beer in her honour as they bonded over their shared admiration for Columbine.

“How did you meet?” Aurin was interested. This Plutarch was clearly younger than Columbine. But he had a good heart and a bright mind. He was glad to think of Columbine with someone like this, considering some of the peacock’s she’d been photographed with over the years.

So Plutarch told him about the club, and the victors, and how even the capitol citizen’s were sick of District 2 always winning the Hunger Games.

“But that goes against the rules,” Plutarch would never have dared speak like this in the Capitol. “we have to support the winner, or it’s seen as destabilising the system.”

He grew thoughtful with Aurin patiently listening.

“I think we should have the freedom to choose something different. Choose to lose even. To fail, without it meaning you have to die.”

Aurin gently knocked his glass against Plutarch’s and quietly toasted. “The freedom to lose.” He drained the remains of his beer and placed his empty glass on the table. “Especially if you had no choice about playing in the first place.”

  


They dawdled companionably back through the streets to the workshop. Shutters were being pulled down and locks fastened for the evening. Aurin was greeted by name by several of the shopkeepers and Plutarch felt safe in the presence of this well-respected craftsman.

Coby was waiting for them. They had been gone longer than they realised. The young apprentice blushed a little as he passed on the message for Plutarch from Hector.

“Your father asked me to show you to my Aunt’s place. He said you’ll both stay there tonight. But you’ll need the ring to be ready to leave tomorrow.” He shrugged at Aurin, an apology for the lack of understanding of his craft in that comment.

Aurin wasn’t bothered about the demand for the ring. He would relish staying up all night to make something beautiful for his daughter. What concerned him was Hector asking Plutarch to stay at the Ardor House. He seemed like such a genuinely nice boy, and he liked to think of his future son-in –law staying that way. But now wasn’t the time for a secret kept so long to be blurted out. A District 1 worker had no business commenting on where the Heavensbees spent the night. He folded his arms and promised Plutarch he’d make sure the ring was ready in time.

Plutarch offered his hand in thanks, and Aurin took it, returning the warm grasp. “It’s been good to meet you. Make sure you treat your intended right, she seems like a very special person.”

A promise was returned, that he need have no worries about that.

“So much for a quiet day.” Aurin locked the door behind Plutarch and Coby. It was time to look at the mockingjay again, before a busy night by the forge.

  


Plutarch was in somewhat of a daze as Coby accompanied him to the house near the station. He couldn’t wait to tell Columbine about handing the mockingjay back to Aurin. What a day it had been. If only she were here with him now. He ached at the memory of how close they had been just twelve hours ago. Now he had to wait another whole day to see her again. He thought about how he wouldn’t have to worry about kissing her this time. 

Coby was just glad Plutarch didn’t want to talk. It would have been a very awkward conversation to explain his father had bought him a night with Dulgence Lux as an early birthday/engagement present. 

  


The sun was just about to disappear, somewhere beyond the fence, in the wilderness of the separation zone. The light withdrew, leaving the District to its other calling. Lanterns had been placed on the tables in front of the Ardor house. Hector spotted his son as he came out of the twilight with Coby and beckoned to Plutarch to join him. He was in jovial spirits and for once, Plutarch was feeling contented enough not to mind. He accepted the drink his father ordered for him, brought by a young woman in a very low cut top. Plutarch couldn’t help but noticing the cut of the top and the slit in her skirt which nearly met in the middle. Since spending time with Bene and Columbine he had become more aware of fashion trends. The styles inspired by District 4 had been revealing due to the sheer fabrics used, but this dress appeared to have been deliberately cut to display her breasts and thighs.

Having analysed the clothing he switched his attention back to his father who was watching him with a smirk on his face. “How does it feel to be eighteen next week? Nearly a man! Good times…” Hector shook his head in disbelief at how good 18 had been for him and drifted off into some private reminiscence, leaving Plutarch free to ignore the comment. He bit his tongue, trying not to spoil the amicable atmosphere.

“Thought you might appreciate a lesson or two before you finally get down to business with Columbine. I can tell you still haven’t. You’re a virgin aren’t you?”

Plutarch did not want to have this conversation with anyone, let alone his father. 

“Come on Plutarch. She clearly isn’t, a virgin, is she? Very experienced from what I’ve heard.” His lecherous laughter made Plutarch sick to his stomach. “Can’t have a Heavensbee man letting the side down. We’ve something of a reputation you know.”

“No” Plutarch glared at his father’s intoxicated face, suddenly feeling much more sober himself. “I don’t know. What kind of a reputation?”

Hector hadn’t an ounce of shame in him. “Heavensbee’s are ladies men, everyone knows it. No woman has ever been left dissatisfied. Isn’t that right sweetheart?” he leered at the waitress.

Plutarch felt like such an idiot as the penny finally dropped that he was at one of the District 1 brothels. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard about them; groups of Capitol citizens would come out to party here before they got married. And it wasn’t so unusual for a boy from the Capitol to be bought a fuck for his eighteenth birthday. He had just never thought about it for himself.

He watched his father’s smug face. “Not so hard to satisfy when you’re paying her,” he thought. But knew better than to say it aloud. The ring wasn’t bought yet for one thing. 

He hated his father all over again, for putting worries into his head. And on such a good day. Of course he had fantasised about sex with Columbine. It was always wonderful; they were made for each other. But now he had that thought there: What if he wasn’t as good as her other lovers? What if he did it wrong? What if he couldn’t do it at all? 

As he mulled it over he came to the conclusion. “Perhaps a conversation with a woman from this brothel might not be such a bad idea.”

  


“Father?” There was no reply, but after a wait that felt like forever, another rasping breath was drawn. The old President’s eyes fluttered open.

Coriolanus Snow was still waiting for his father to die. It was taking too long for his liking, but helping Papa on his way was maybe a bridge too far, even for him. Maybe…

“I’ve brought Athena with me. I know you always trusted her.” Plutarch’s mother leaned forward to make sure she could be seen. It was awful to witness the grand old man’s suffering. He had shrivelled down to skin and bones. Each breath took more out of him than it gave back. Life was not prepared to lend him anything more.

“I just need you to sign this. To confirm that I am President. No election required.” He wrapped his father’s fingers around a golden pen, lining the nib up where the signature was required.

His hand shook, and the pen fell through the bones, too weak to grasp on to anything.

But Athena saw it wasn’t an accident. He moved his head slowly from side to side. “No.” The sound was a ghost’s whisper. But she knew what she heard.

Coriolanus retrieved the pen and signed on the line, purposely pressing only very lightly; making the writing wobble. “It’s what he would have wanted?” he asked his new head advisor. “Absolutely,” she agreed. He raised the glass to his father’s lips. “To celebrate papa,” and he tipped the wine down, just a bit too fast, he could be heavy handed at times, so the old man choked. “You don’t always need to add the poison” he thought calmly, whilst Athena rushed off to look for a nurse.


	15. Truth

 

The lighthouse stood in front of the busy District 4 harbour, a short boat ride out into the bay. It was needed now more than ever. Quotas had been doubled since the last Hunger Games, and crews were going out day and night, no matter if the force of the wind or the height of the waves recommended otherwise. Mags’ grandfather continued to look out, and now her brother, Connah, had joined him too. Connah watched for boats steering towards the rocks whilst the old man focussed on something further off than the immediate dangers of the tide.

Since getting back from the funeral, Mags had visited every day. She rowed over in the small wooden boat that Mycle had given her. It was light enough to bob freely on top of the waves, safely out of reach of the jagged rocks that would wreck a sturdier vessel. Mags would hop out and tie it up, bringing a loaf of salty bread, enriched with seaweed, and fresh water to drink. Connah liked to fish and sing, whilst Mags made new hooks for him to try, and wound rope together to make it stronger. Now and then her grandfather would pass over his telescope, with a nod to a change in the cloud formations or a dark shadow under the water.

That Saturday she could feel the quickening of the breeze, a softening of the light. These signs she knew well enough to dismiss as the change of season, but her grandfather was tingling, pacing around the light and rubbing his forearms in excitement. 

“I’ll have to get going,” Mags spoke to her brother’s back as he willed the fish to bite. The surf was picking up. “Don’t let him freeze up there will you.”

It was a hard pull back to shore, with an unusual cross wind blowing. Mags realised she would have to just let nature set her course, and rely on the incoming tide to bring her in to land. She pulled the oars in and fastened them down, threw her head back and enjoyed the force of the water around her. The waves grew stronger, raising her up as if displaying its prize, before dropping her fast. She lay back in the boat and imagined she was a fish amongst the currents. A trip that usually took fifteen minutes lasted an hour. The boat dragged away from the harbour and round the headland to where there was no beach, just large brown rocks, covered in slime, fallen down from the cliffs. Mycle (as she had named her boat) found a nook between the rocks and let her climb out. She took her rope and secured it to the thick iron ring at the prow, hooping it over her shoulders to unravel as she went, until she could find something to hitch him to. The limpets and barnacles scraped her feet, but gave her something to grip as she searched for a way on to dry land. There was no path up the cliff face here, so she threaded the rope between two rocks and used her strongest knot to hold him fast. He’d wait for her she was sure.

The clouds were gathering fast. The wind picked up, and the rain drops hit her; fat and juicy fruit from the sky. A flash of lightning revealed the scale of the cliff face in front of her. There was no way to climb out, and it was impossible to stay upright on the stones. Defeated she crawled back to Mycle and curled up as tight as she could in the bottom of the boat, with just the seat for shelter.

The only thing to do was sleep, so Mags slept. She could turn her mind over to the life of dreams as easily as some people can ignore a conversation they don’t want to hear. Behind her eyelids she let the world of here and now tune out to find the sweet feeling of Mycle’s arms around her once more. 

She didn’t feel the cold air or the rain; and the light from the moon stayed hidden behind the clouds even as the storm blew over. What woke her in the early hours was a noise. It was an unnatural sound that brought the Capitol into her dreams. Mycle squeezed her close and kissed her hair before sliding over the side and sinking down, feet first, below the waves. 

“Electric”, thought Mags, a quiet hum that didn’t belong out here. The air was still shadows but from the edge of her eyes she saw a gap open in the cliff. The stench of the city streets hit her nose like a foul belch, as the effluent poured into the sea. A sheen covered the waves for a moment before its weight dragged it under to coat the sea bed and the creatures below. Another noise started now; something was tapping insistently, needing her attention. She looked over the side and fished out a small beer bottle, designed with ridges to fit palms and fingers, and the Turkey logo of Capitol beer. Her first instinct was anger at the way the Capitol abused the ocean, polluting its beauty with their waste. But as she studied her catch, she realised this was something rare, to find something from the Capitol so far from home. This was news.

The sea was calm enough to row, and Mags was spurred on to power through the waves back round to the harbour. Her little vessel dodged between the fishing boats setting off before the dawn, passing the wall where the larger boats were moored to pull up on the safe, gently sloping, shingle beach. 

Passing the factories where fish was packaged for the capitol and maybe some for the other districts, the plastic overalls and boots of the workers stark in the glare of electric light, Mags headed away from the Victors houses on the cliff and into the town where she had questions to put to the mayor.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

  


Calista and Radiance slept wrapped in each others arms. The storm had cooled the air and they pulled the blankets around them as the sound of the rain on the window sent shivers over their skin. Radiance ran her fingers over Calista’s arms remembering the fingerprints and slap marks that used to be a constant part of life. It had taken years for her to learn how to relax, but since the funeral, Calista finally seemed at peace. She had told her about seeing Columbine again, that her daughter finally seemed more settled somehow. Good to hear, but it brought a tinge of jealousy too. Radiance loved that girl as much as if she had been her own. 

“What’s the matter?”

Radiance jumped, not aware that Calista had been watching her. She felt embarrassed to admit her selfish thoughts, but their relationship was too complicated for anything but honesty between them.

“I was thinking about Columbine; wishing I could have seen her too.” That had been all, but even as she spoke her hidden feelings came bubbling up to the surface. “I know it sounds bad, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I always seem to come second. Just for once, I’d like something to happen for me.” She cringed at herself as she said it. Hearing her words out loud, they sounded so small and petty. 

Calista tried not to show how hurt she felt. She loved Radiance with all her heart; to her she was the most beautiful, strong but gentle, brave and forgiving, wonderful person in Panem. And she knew that she was far too good to stay with her forever. It seemed the day she feared had come, and now she was going to have to be brave and good for a change. If you love someone you have to let them go…

She couldn’t do it. 

“I still need you.” They were the wrong words, said automatically, before she could think.

Radiance rolled over to lie on her back, side by side with her lover, looking at the ceiling to avoid Calista’s eyes. She had tried to tell her something difficult about how she felt inside, but it seemed Calista didn’t want to know. She couldn’t be bothered trying to say anything more. Pushing the blankets off, she left to go to make a drink, securing her dressing gown tight around her naked body as she went. 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Sunlight was just starting to break through the shadows as Mags reached the Mayor’s House. It was a surprise to see a light on inside, but so much the better if they were already up. She tapped on the window and was rewarded with a drawn and rumpled Radiance peering at her through the curtain. 

It took Radiance a moment to make out who it was in the gloom, but when she recognised Mags her spirits were lifted again. “You heard me putting the kettle on?” She welcomed her at the door and steered her to the kitchen. 

“Well I won’t say no if that’s an offer,” Mags realised how cold and hungry she was after her night exposed to the storm. Radiance took in her damp clothes, clinging to her thin frame. “You make us a pot of tea and I’ll get you something dry to put on.” 

Calista was biting her nails, trying to work out what to do for the best, when Radiance walked in, ignoring her as she went to the wardrobe to find something that might fit Mags. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Calista started to plead. It looked to her like Radiance was packing to leave. “Well, I did mean it, of course, I do need you, I will always need you, I don’t know what I’ll do without you…”She had to stop herself going down the wrong path again. “But, I love you more than that. What you need is more important to me. I don’t think you believe me, but it’s true.” She pulled at her hair not knowing what to do. She so badly wanted to make her stay, but she knew she had to let her go. 

Radiance wasn’t even looking at her.

“Mags is downstairs.” She took a skirt and a jumper, all her trousers would be too long for the petite Victor. 

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

A cup of tea was waiting for Calista when she finally worked out there was nothing else she could do but come down to see for herself. Had they been planning to leave for a long time she wondered? How long had this been going on? She looked between the two women, Radiance willowy and graceful, Mags a scrap of wildness wearing her clothes. They were laughing together, and she felt like the outsider. What would she do on her own? As she turned to leave again, Radiance reached out for her hand. The sight of her partner’s reddened eyes was all it took for her to forget why she had even been mad. Calista needed her. That wasn’t really a crime. She tugged her closer and Calista practically jumped into her arms. A soft kiss was enough to glue them back together for now. They could talk about it all later. 

“Look what Mags fished out of the Ocean.” Radiance passed the bottle over. “She called round to talk to you about it.”

It took a moment for Calista to catch up and realise there had been no plan between her lover and her friend. She rubbed her eyes as though that might help her see what was going on more clearly, before picking up the catch.

The design of the bottle insisted on having fingers molded to it, the shape making it ready to be lifted to the mouth. But the smell coming off it was foul. Calista’s pretty features screwed up in disgust. She put it down and went to wash her hands. 

“Did you know about this?” Mags demanded, “The waste from the Capitol being dumped out here?” 

“The Mayor of District 4 isn’t really a title that carries much power.” Calista turned the oven on to warm up some rolls for breakfast. She had made the soft white bread herself thinking it would be a treat, but Mags only saw a traitorous show of distaste for the traditional green district 4 bake. 

“So you did know?” Radiance asked again.

Calista sighed as she brushed her hands together to shake the flour free. “I’m sorry. Yes, it’s always been done, since way back before the dark days.” She sat at the table and poured out some more tea for all three of them. “And I do know that doesn’t make it right. I’ll raise it when I file my monthly report. Especially with the quota’s being raised, we need to look after the stocks.” 

Against her will, Mags’ stomach rumbled as the warm oven started to leak the smell of warming fresh bread. Calista smiled and put out plates, knives and butter. 

“Don’t” Mags reply surprised both Calista and Radiance. “Don’t draw any attention to it.” She picked up the blunt knife, turning it in her hand from a kitchen utensil to a weapon, gripped in her fist. 

“If a bottle can come to district 4 from the Capitol, could we send anything back the other way?”

“What are you thinking of?” Radiance asked.

Mags wasn’t really sure yet. Something that would hurt Coriolanus Snow.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

  


It had been an interesting night for Plutarch in District 1. He had learnt a thing or two, as his father had promised, and now he just wanted to get back to Columbine. 

Waiting for Hector to settle the bill, Plutarch sat outside at the tables. His head ached a little from the alcohol and lack of sleep. It was strangely quiet. Perhaps because it was Sunday? He could hear the birds in the trees and it reminded him of the cemetery in the Capitol. He hoped Buster was doing his duty and keeping a close watch on his intended. He smiled to himself as he used the word he had given Aurin to explain his relationship with Columbine. He really did feel that they were meant to be together.

His dreams were broken by Coby, “Sorry to disturb you, but a mandatory viewing light has just come on.”

The announcement of the President’s death came as no shock to Plutarch and Hector, but the district 1 citizens actually seemed saddened by the loss. Strange how people would get attached to anything if it was around for long enough. Hard times soon became the good old days.

Snow junior revealed the decision to bequeath the presidency to him, thus protecting the citizens from any unrest. He promised to continue his father’s work to maintain peace and stability.

The camera panned back at this point to show Coriolanus flanked by Athena Heavensbee and Artemis Fortuna. Hector raised his eyebrows at the sight of his wife in the chief adviser’s position. It appeared they had moved up in the world overnight. 

Hector looked from his wife standing at the president’s side, to his son, preparing to devote himself to a playgirl. “Are we really going through with this whole engagement charade?”

Plutarch was surprised; had his father known the engagement was a ploy to visit the Goldsmith?

“Your mother is there climbing the ladder of power. I don’t think linking yourself to the Creador family is doing anybody any favours. Andronicus was always a loser if you ask me.” 

Plutarch thought of how he and Aurin had been able to talk about ideas of freedom and choosing something other than the Presidents way. He could never talk like that with his own father. 

“The ring will be ready. The goldsmith promised.”

“I think we should just leave it and get on the train,” Hector had had his fun with his son, and now it was time to get back down to real life. Time to make some money instead of wasting it out here in the Districts. 

The idea outraged Plutarch. To show such disdain for Aurin’s craft was unthinkable. “You can’t order a piece of fine jewellery and then not pay for it. He will have been working all night to have it ready for us.”

Hector laughed at him as though he was a school boy who didn’t understand the way the world worked. But Plutarch understood only too well how things worked, he just had an idea that they could work just as well done another, fairer way. He strode off to collect the ring on his own, not sure how he was going to pay. Hector shook his head and ordered another drink whilst he waited.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Aurin gave the ring another polish. It was a simple design, a broad but slim band of white gold, holding the garnet in an oval setting. He had been tempted to put it in a heart-shape for young Plutarch; but he thought perhaps Columbine was not as sweet and innocent as her boy, and he needed to show some sophistication in his choice for her. It filled him with joy to be a part of her life in this way. He was also alive with the thought of his sister as partner to the Mayor of District 4. For all their ideals of division and control, the government couldn’t stop people falling in love and mixing together. If this was his family’s story, he bet there were others who had crossed the district lines too. 

A knock on the door, before Plutarch appeared, looking a little sheepish. The goldsmith immediately wondered what Dulgence had done to him during the night. He offered a coffee which Plutarch gratefully accepted. “On your own?” 

“Yes,” his daughter’s suitor seemed a little stuck for words this morning.

“Come on up to the kitchen.” It was unheard of for a customer from the Capitol to be brought into the living quarters, but Plutarch didn’t know that, and Aurin no longer saw him as a customer. He was practically family now. 

He seated Plutarch at the table where he had hosted his meetings to plan how to cheat at the Games; where Jaysen from District 2 had agreed to help District 1 out of pity for their hunger; where the mother of Plutarch’s ‘intended’ sat, almost a year ago; the strong independent woman he longed to be able to care for as a husband should. 

Taking the chair across the table, he unravelled the jewellers silk, to display the ring.

“It’s perfect.” Plutarch was in awe of the craftsman. “Thank you.”

“Do you think it will fit?” Aurin asked with a hint of a joke. He could see Plutarch still hesitated to reach out. “It’s yours, you can touch it.”

He pinched the ring up between forefinger and thumb, turning it over on his palm. There was an engraving inside. At first sight he thought it must be Aurin’s mark. But no, it was a mockingjay, just like the brooch. How Aurin could make such a small image was beyond him. 

“O.k.?” Aurin checked, seeing he had noticed the mark. 

“Perfect” Plutarch repeated. But his face wasn’t showing the pleasure Aurin had hoped for. 

“What is it?” Aurin prodded.

The shame flooded Plutarch’s face. “I can’t pay.” He thought how best to explain. “Did you see the viewing this morning, out with the old Snow and in with the new.” Aurin nodded. He was of much the same view. The new president seemed to be more of a fanatic than his father if anything.

“The new chief advisor, Athena Heavensbee… it’s my mother.”

“Wow,” Aurin realised there was only a couple of degrees of separation from the president himself here in his kitchen. “You’re a powerful man!” 

Laughing Plutarch shook his head. “My mother is a very astute woman. She knows we need to stay on the right side of the new president.” He paused for Aurin to catch up, but could see he would need to fill in the gap. He wouldn’t know the inside politics of the Capitol. 

“Columbine Creador doesn’t really fit on the right side of the new president.”

Aurin frowned, angry at how quickly it seemed his daughter was being dropped. He wanted Plutarch out of his kitchen, but he was still holding on to the ring. 

“My father won’t pay you. But I will,” Plutarch meant his promise, “But I’m not sure how…”

Banging his fist on the table, Aurin raised his voice. He wouldn’t have Columbine treated like a pawn in a game. “Let’s just get this straight. What exactly are your intentions to my daughter!” He wanted to shake this Capitol boy, to see what he was made of. He didn’t even realise what he had said. 

It was the look on Plutarch’s face that echoed it back. He was speaking to Columbine’s father. It made so much more sense now. 

“Columbine is your daughter?” he quizzed Aurin with his eyes. Aurin nodded. The truth was out.

All Plutarch knew was that this was an honour, and he must not mess this up.

After a pause to collect his thoughts, he swallowed hard and bared his soul.

“Sir, I love Columbine with all my heart. I will do anything to protect her. I would never hurt her. I want to marry her and stay with her for the rest of my life.” 

Aurin warmed even more to Plutarch. He wasn’t bothered about any scandal. This was still all about Columbine.

“You’re very young, to promise a life time.” Aurin knew Plutarch meant what he said, but life hadn’t tested him yet. 

“You can’t promise a life time if it’s already half over.” Plutarch’s logic kicked in, making Aurin smile. It was a good argument.

“So your father doesn’t want you to marry Columbine, but you’re going to ask her anyway.” He got up and came round the table. Plutarch stood to face him as Aurin wrapped him in a warm hug. 

“You have my blessing. Take the ring. I hope it brings you luck.”

The beaming smile on Plutarch’s face lit up the room. “I’ll pay you back, somehow.”

Aurin shook his hand, “Well, you can maybe help me out, if I need it, some day.” 

 


	16. Come Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed Plutarch's dog's name from Buster to Seymour in tribute to Philip Seymour Hoffman.

“Come on then, Seymour,” Columbine decided she had to get out of the apartment before the tension of waiting for Plutarch killed her. The TV was filled with memorials to the deceased Snow, including footage of herself as a baby, with her mother and father at the first Hunger Games. The sick celebration of a new life in the Capitol, as children from the Districts were being forced to murder each other . It shamed her. And the lie of her family being held up as some ideal unit to encourage reproduction made her angry. Looking back, she thanked goodness that Radiance had been there to show Calista what love was really about, or who knows what kind of monster she would have turned into. 

“When will he be back?” Seymour had only a wag of the tail as reply. She was impatient to see Plutarch again. It had felt so good to be held in his arms. Cherished. Plutarch understood what love was about; he didn’t want her to be anything other than who she really was. Not something she knew herself yet, but with Plutarch it felt possible she could try to work it out. It put a smile on her face just to think about him stood behind Bene’s door, all nervous and intense. A shiver of pleasure echoed down her spine just thinking about the unexpected storm of passion he had shown her. “Come home Plutarch,” she begged again, as she reached Seymour’s lead down from the hook.

Girl and hound wandered through the artist’s quarter, looking at the sculptures and installations that covered this part of the Capitol. Seymour wasn’t much of a critic but he knew what he liked, art with plenty of nooks and crannies where the best smells hid. They managed to waste a couple of hours this way. Columbine had been too distracted to eat but Seymour started to pull her towards a food stall so she bought them a jumbo sized sausage to share. 

“His train should be back soon,” she talked to Seymour to calm herself, keeping at bay the worry that the mockingjay might have been found. It was too much to contemplate the punishments that Plutarch could have suffered in taking this risk for her. 

“What to do?” she havered. Go to the station to meet him- but his father made her feel so awkward. She didn’t like to say anything to Plutarch but Hector gave her the creeps with the sleazy way he looked her up and down. She decided to just go back to the apartment and wait for him to come to her.

They were nearly back at Bene’s when a car smoothly pulled up alongside them. Seymour suddenly halted in his tracks, ears pricked. Columbine put her hand on his flank to reassure him, but he recognised the vehicle. The back window rolled down to reveal Athena Heavensbee’s face. She beckoned Columbine over, "Their train will have just arrived back in the city. Come with me, I'm on my way home to meet them."

It wasn't an offer she could turn down, though she had hoped to have a more private reunion with Plutarch.

XxXxXxXxXx

  


He’d rushed from the station without even bothering to speak to his father; driven by a desperate need to see Columbine again. His mind buzzed with irrational fear, fuelled by Aurin’s melancholy warnings about losing his love. But she wasn’t there. He went to buy a coffee to waste some time. 15 minutes later and she still wasn’t there. He paced up and down outside the door to the apartment, determined to wait for her. It didn’t make any sense. Plutarch pressed his eyelids to hold back the tears that were forming. 

The grey-haired lady from next door appeared, looking irritated by his presence outside her home.

“Have you seen Columbine? Columbine Creador; the Gamemaker’s daughter; Bene’s friend.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to hide their true relationship. Even as he said it he felt a twist of guilt inside at his lack of loyalty.

Blade shook her head. “Is he back then, Bene? He has a lot of visitors for a missing person.”

“No, not that I know of. Columbine was just borrowing his apartment for the night. Would you be able to let me in?”

“No can do. Looks like you’ve been stood up!” she laughed unsympathetically, leaving him stranded.

XxXxXxXxXx

  


“I’m glad we have this opportunity to talk,” said Athena, patting Columbine on the hand as they sat side by side in the back of her car. “Plutarch seems quite taken by you.”

Columbine wasn’t really comfortable with this conversation. 

“He’s always been a very sensitive boy. I worry he lives too much of his life through books really; it can lead to a tendency to fantasise too much.” 

Columbine didn’t agree. Plutarch’s reading was grounded in understanding the way things really were. It was other people in the Capitol who were caught up in a fantasy. She held her tongue and smiled.

“Whereas you, my dear. I think you have maybe been exposed to too much reality. We knew what Creador was like behind the cameras. I imagine he was cruel to you and your mother. You might not expect it but I do actually have some sympathy with Calista. I’m glad she was allowed to leave with some dignity in the end.”

Columbine hadn’t expected that. The official line was that Calista had been banished in disgrace; only allowed to have the role as mayor in view of her family’s status in the Capitol.

The glimpse of humanity softened Columbine for Athena’s first strike. “How long do you think it will take, before you grow bored of him?” 

Columbine was taken aback by the direct challenge.

“It’s not like that. He’s a true friend. I don’t grow bored of my friends.”

“Ah,” Calista nodded, “then you’ll break his heart.”

“I don’t plan on doing that either.” Columbine wished she could get out of the car now.

“You will. Eventually. And what will he have lost in the mean time? His reputation for one thing. They are already laughing at him in the political circles. After those pictures of him kissing you. It’s brought definite doubts about whether his judgement can be trusted. And there can’t be doubts if he’s going to be an advisor.”

“Do you know where he was last night?” She wasn’t going to let up now.

Columbine drew a sharp breath. Had he been found with the mockingjay? 

“In a brothel in District 1.”

Athena enjoyed the look on Columbine’s face. She hadn’t expected that one.

“No doubt he was trying to learn some techniques to keep you satisfied. I assume he is already struggling to keep up in that department.”

“What the …” Columbine couldn’t believe the nerve of this woman. She snatched her hand back as Athena tried to take it.

“He is clearly besotted by you Columbine. But if you care for him, don’t encourage this anymore.”

“He’s nearly 18. I think he can make his own decisions.”

“True. He’s 18, he’s smart. He doesn’t have to do what his mother tells him anymore. Do I need to get real then? You want the truth?”

Columbine nodded, although she wasn’t certain she was ready for this.

“I think you are putting him in danger. This new president, Coriolanus Snow. He’s not happy with you. You took over your father’s funeral. He thinks you could have made him look weak. It didn’t, he saved it. But you’re a liability, and he doesn’t mess around with his enemies.” She paused to let her words sink in. She could see that Columbine accepted the truth in this.

“ I understand you aren’t from Capitol blood.”

“Blood!” Columbine was taken aback. “What does blood have to do with anything? I understand the new President himself was adopted. His father had him without involving a mother.”

“Not adopted, no. Snow had a capitol woman inseminated. He’s his father’s son, no doubt about that. He had a blood test to prove it before announcing his succession to the presidency. His mother was from a good pedigree too. “

The term pedigree didn’t sit well with Columbine. Human beings were more than breeding stock.

“Calista wasn’t thinking so clearly when she bought you it seems”.

Columbine loved her mother for that. She might have bought a child on a whim. But her heritage had never mattered to her. 

“You marry Plutarch. There’ll be a blood test. It will show you don’t belong here. It could be argued that your children should go into the reaping. And how’s that going to look. Do you think Snow would tolerate such a scandal? You’ll be killed and Plutarch will be heartbroken.” Athena neatly shut down the future for Columbine and Plutarch. Twenty minutes ago she had been whispering advice into the new president’s ear. There was no doubt that the future would play out exactly how Athena predicted.

“So you see. I think its better you let him down now.”

The car stopped. They were outside her father’s house. She shivered just looking at the front door. The ghost of him still seemed to linger about the place.

“Goodbye Columbine.”

Seymour tried to follow her as she stepped out of the car but Athena pulled him back.

“I’ll take him home.”

XxXxXxXxXx

  


“Happy Birthday Darling” Athena decided it was time she got Plutarch out of bed. He hadn’t eaten since he came back from District 1 to find he’d been dumped by Columbine.

Her son was at least sitting up on his pillows and reading again. Seymour lay on his legs, guarding him.

Athena had told Plutarch she had found Seymour wandering around the streets when she’d been driving home. It was the one thing that gave him hope. He couldn’t believe Columbine would have just left him to stray across the city. His judgement couldn’t be so out. Seymour had loved her too, and his judgement was always sound. He reasoned, if his mother was lying about Seymour , she was likely to have done something to scare Columbine away. He knew the way she operated. Too much time spent with the Snow’s was rubbing off on her.

Athena pushed the dog off the bed to make space for her.

“We’re going to have a good day today. I’m not letting that tart spoil your birthday.”

“I’m not going to talk to you if you speak about Columbine that way.”

“I heard she was back out at the new club last night. Moved on to the latest craze. Well, a girl like Columbine doesn’t stick around.”

“She wasn’t right for you Plutarch. You are worth so much more than that.” She gently took the book out of his hand to try to make him look at her.

“You say she left Seymour wandering the streets?” he asked, wanting to gauge her response.

“She must have done, and that is a perfect illustration of my point. She is completely unreliable. Poor Seymour,” he was curled up on the floor now, eyes closed as though ignoring her. “He could have been caught by a warden and put to sleep.” Athena’s eye contact stayed natural. She showed no signs of lying.

Plutarch leaned over to stroke his old dog. If it was true, he had been mistaken about Columbine.

“Ok,” he felt he owed his mother something on his 18th birthday. She had brought him into the world after all. “I’ll get up in a minute.”

He was rewarded with a fond kiss on the head. “Remember we have the president coming for dinner.”

As the door closed, he pulled the covers further over him. Dinner with the president was the last thing he wanted for his birthday.

He watched Seymour seemingly sleeping.

“Columbine.” He tried her name out. Seymour opened his eyes, pricked his ears and wagged his tail. His mother was lying he was certain. Columbine would never abandon Seymour, and he was not going to abandon her. 

XxXxXxXxXx

  


Dinner was going to be all about impressing the president.

Athena and Hector were giddy with it. This was where they met in the middle. Both of them loved this kind of status. They clinked their glasses together to toast how fantastic they were, forgetting it was Plutarch’s birthday at all for a moment. Athena remembered as she put her glass out to her son, trying to draw him in to the excitement. A year ago he would have been made up with a presidential visit on his birthday. She wasn’t happy with his recent loss of direction, but it was hard to keep a close eye on the home situation with her demanding job.

Snow arrived with an armed guard who remained stationed at the door. He also brought Artemis with him. Another setting was smoothly added to the table without any disturbance; such minor changes to a plan were well within Athena’s grasp. 

As the meal progressed, conversation focussed on politics. Athena and Hector thanked Snow for taking on his father’s role for the sake of the stability of the country, awarding him noble motives Plutarch was sure he didn’t possess. He was glad to stay in the background and observe. But eventually Coriolanus addressed him directly.

“I’m glad you ended that liaison with Columbine Creador. She’s a most unpleasant character. Not her fault perhaps, but you can see she has no breeding.”

He smiled over at Artemis.“The idea of linking Government and games was good one though.” He held his glass up towards Artemis. The new head gamemaker clearly had the presidential seal of approval.

“The games have to be stronger than ever this year. It will be interesting to see if giving them a vote changes anything. I must say I don’t think they’ll know what to do with it. For all people fuss about wanting a say, I think they really prefer to be told what to do and then complain. They’ll see for themselves, decision making is not an easy thing. Best to leave it in the hands of those of us who know what we’re doing.”

Hector spoke up with his thoughts on the Games. “I hope the vote might encourage some bravery from the other districts, aside from 2 and 4. The outer districts haven’t really been entering into the spirit just lately.”

“He’s right,” Coriolanus spoke to Artemis. “We need to get a bit more fight from the outer districts too. They can’t just sit back and sacrifice. They need to show more understanding of the honour of being picked for the Games.”

“You visit the districts, Hector?” He turned his attention back to the business man.

“8 and 10 mostly, couple or three times a year.” 

“What are they saying about me?”

“Well we were in District 1 last weekend. No offence but I don’t think they know so much about you out in the Districts. Your father was very loved and I am sure that will pass on to you. The Snow name is certainly a strong brand.”

“I’m not sure I like to think of my family name as a brand.” He screwed up his nose and Athena gave her husband a dark look.

“Not a brand. A dynasty.” She placated.

“What did you think Plutarch?” Athena was hoping to give her son a chance to show off his analytical skills to the president.

He didn’t want to talk about Aurin as though he was a separate species, but he knew what was expected at this table.

“The people of District 1 are hard working and loyal people. They understand the system and know their place in it and I am sure they will be delighted to have Snow senior’s successor continuing the traditions that have kept the stability of the last 25 years.” It was a very weak and clichéd statement by anyones standards he knew. But he couldn’t say what he really thought any more.

“Plutarch will be going for the adviser's programme in the Spring.” Athena took a chance on pushing her son’s position forward. It was expected when you invited someone for dinner.

“Oh dear. “ Snow shook his head. “For one, I am reducing the number of places significantly. We will hand pick candidates rather than the old system of assessment. My father perhaps gave too much weight to advisers. I feel able to trust my own judgement. But, in any case, I think its too late for you now, Plutarch." He gave a shrug, holding his hands up as though this had nothing to do with him. "Your link with Columbine has cast too much of a shadow.”

“I can assure you that relationship is over,” Athena quickly spoke up on Plutarch's behalf.

“Of course, but you have shown a serious lack of judgement. I couldn’t have that brought into my counsel. Perhaps Artemis could find him something in the background for the games?” He turned to the ambitious young woman at his side.

“I suppose he could be a runner at the TV studio.” She grudgingly offered, making no effort to hide her disdain.

A runner! Athena was fuming inside but kept her cool exterior. She understood the message all too well. Snow had just as much power over her and her family as everyone else in Panem.

Snow and Artemis didn’t linger after the meal, and Athena also retired to bed with a headache, leaving Plutarch with Hector. 

After trying and failing to make chit chat, Plutarch decided he needed to get out. “I think I might call a couple of friends and see if anyone wants to try this new club.”

“Good idea,” Hector was relieved at being let off having to spend any more time with his son. “You might as well get out there and enjoy yourself now you’re off the adviser programme.” He slapped him on the back and slipped him a few notes. “Enjoy your birthday!”

XxXxXxXxXx

  


The New club had a completely different atmosphere from the dark corners and flashing lights of the old haunt.

The music was quieter and the room was set up with banqueting tables. This experience was mostly about drinking, eating, lying on couches and talking. Guards were stationed discretely around the room and avox waiters and waitresses flitted in between the customers, keeping their glasses and plates full.

Altogether much easier to see who was there and hear what was being discussed.

The air was heavily scented and Plutarch wondered if there was something gently soporific being piped in with that sweet smell. There would be no rioting in this place.

He was already full from dinner but it looked like restraint would be frowned on. As he loaded another plate with food, a head full of golden curls caught his eye. It was being tipped back as a heavily muscled victor from District 2 poured an oyster from its shell. He could only too easily imagine the open mouth waiting, but couldn’t stop himself moving around the table to see the reality. Some sauce had trickled onto her chin. As her tongue went after it the victor slowly traced the fluid back up into her mouth, pushing his finger in for her to suck.

“Columbine?”

She couldn’t give him eye contact. Murmuring an excuse to the Victor, she turned and left, patting her chin with a serviette.

Plutarch followed her to the bathroom, catching her before she made it away from him.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Stay away from me,” she hissed. Her pupils were wide, artificially dilated, leaving only the tiniest sliver of colour around the black. The shadows under her eyes were prominent, her skin pale. He wanted to wash her powder off so he could see the freckles he knew were hiding underneath.

“I need to ask you something.” She shook her head desperate for him to get away from her, but not wanting to cause a scene.

“Would you like to know how Seymour is?” This was the test. Seymour had always been a soft spot for her. Had that changed too?

“Seymour! Is he ok. Has something happened to him?” without thinking she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. The lightest touch but it felt like his skin burnt with the connection.

“I left him with your mother. Oh no. Don’t say they did something to Seymour.”

He couldn’t keep this up in the face of her anguish. “No, its ok. He’s fine. He misses you. That’s all.”

“Will you tell him I miss him too and… I’m sorry I had to go.” She managed to look Plutarch in the eye for the merest second before sliding away, onto the dance floor where she was soon taken up by a new partner.

For the rest of the evening Plutarch tried to keep his eyes away but it was impossible for him. He talked to his friend about nothing in particular, trying to look interested in what he said, but all the time he was scanning the room for another glimpse. Eventually his friend grew tired of being ignored and found a dance partner. Plutarch was glad of an excuse to sit and watch the dancers moving slowly across the floor. Even the moves to the dances had rules now, when to dip, when to turn. Nothing was left to chance or choice in the Capitol anymore.

He remembered the first time he saw Columbine on the dance floor at the old nightclub. He knew she’d been high then, but she’d seemed alive with the music. Every beat moved through her, causing just the right impulse, perfectly in tune. He’d never really understood dance music with no words and little melody until he’d seen her. And then it all made sense.

He had risen from the sofa as he thought about her. Pulled to where she was in the middle of the crowd. Her delicate frame looked like it could be snapped too easily by the brute of a victor who held her in his killer’s hands. At 18 Plutarch was tall and gangling. Not an ounce of fat or muscle on his frame. His fingers were long and elegant, designed to take care of any object they held.

She spotted him as he approach and whispered something in her partners ear, leading him back to the tables.

Plutarch followed, but she held up her hand to stop him, shaking her head and mouthing the word “no.” She looked frightened. She put down her companions plate and pulled him by the elbow to the exit. The lascivious look on the brute’s face was too much for Plutarch to stomach. They were offering emetics-drinks to make you sick-so you could keep on eating. Plutarch took one and went off to try to rid himself of the tainted thoughts that had come into his mind.

A familiar face met him at the vomitorium. Bene’s friend, Fabius. They had met on the night of the ‘disturbance’ as it had become known. He had helped to dye Plutarch’s hair when red had been on trend. Now black and white was de rigeur, and Fabius had neat stripes echoed in his hair, his clothes and his make up. 

“Our protégé,” he joked, as he remembered how he knew Plutarch. “You’re not keeping up with our style tips I see,” he tutted exaggeratedly, feeling the cloth of Plutarch’s suit. He gave him some points for this. The cut might be wrong but it was the best quality. Pure white, chosen by Athena, in honour of the new president. Plutarch’s cache as a companion had gone up with his mother’s high profile appearance with the new President and Fabius decided to forgive his lack of style in view of this. 

“Still playing chess?” he asked flirtatiously, not being able to remember much else about Plutarch.

“Not since that night.” A thought struck him. “I left my chess set at Bene’s apartment. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare key would you? I’d be eternally grateful.” Fabius hesitated. “My mother, Athena Heavensbee, gave the set to me as a present you see. She’s been quite upset at it being left behind,”Plutarch lied.

The prospect of gratitude from Athena Heavensbee was enough for Fabius to give up his spare key.

XxXxXxXxXx

  


Plutarch let himself into Bene’s apartment with a plan to leave a message that Columbine might one day find. But there was no need. She was there in person, in her usual place on the settee.

She hadn’t bothered to hide when she heard the key in the lock, assuming it was another of Bene’s friends. The look on her face when she realised it was Plutarch betrayed everything she felt; a glimpse of want, wiped out by fear.

“You can’t be here. Its’ not safe for you to be seen with me.” She pulled the blanket closer around her. 

“What’s going on?” he didn’t understand the change. She must have known before that his parents didn’t approve of her. “It’s my mother, right? What did she say?”

“Snow hates me. I think the only way I can be tolerated is if I carry on being the fool he can sneer at in place of my father. But you’re too important to associate with me now. The link between Snow and Athena is too strong.”

Plutarch locked the door, leaving the key in the lock as a further precaution. He walked straight over to the settee and sat down. Just millimetres separated them.

“I don’t care.” He took his glasses off, closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead against hers. He wanted to feel everything, no more thinking where Columbine was concerned.

She tried to pull away at first, but the trembling in his hand as he touched her cheek kept her with him. 

She paused, tasting the heat of his breath as he waited for her. 

“We’ll have to be so careful,” she whispered into his mouth.

Everything else was forgotten for some time as they kissed, gently at first, but with gathering passion. Columbine slipped her hands under Plutarch’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and tugging the sleeves from his arms.

“I’ve got so much to tell you,” he sat up, finishing the job of throwing the jacket on the floor.

“The mockingjay!” Columbine couldn’t believe she had forgotten in the heat of the moment.

She wound their fingers together and looked at him earnestly.

Plutarch was glad to see her eyes were her own again. It must have been a short acting hit she’d taken at the club.

The thought of her putting herself at risk with these substances made him pull her onto his lap where he could gather her into his arms. There was nothing but love for her in the action. He made her feel like she belonged.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Tell me all about it.”

Where to start? He pondered.

“It went really well. Radiance’s brother, Aurin, he was so great." Feeling shy again, he reached into his pocket for his wallet where the ring was hidden. "He made this.” 

“I hope it fits ok. I didn’t know your size.” He hesitated, wanting to put the ring on Columbine's finger, but not sure if that was asking too much after all.

Shyly, she offered her left hand, fingers spread wide for Plutarch to take his pick.

The ring slid on easily. Her ring finger held his ring. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

The softness of her lips on his again only added to the sense of this being a dream.This time she led the way. Parting her mouth for him.

When at last they had to breathe, she told him she loved it. But she probably couldn’t ever wear it in public.

“I know,” he replied, though he hadn’t thought of this. He stroked his hand gently down her arm as she snuggled in to him, content in the moment.

“There’s something really big I have to tell you.” He hadn’t discussed telling Columbine with Aurin. But it was clear to him now. She had to know.

He waited for Columbine to look into his face. “The Goldsmith, Aurin Sheen, the man who made the mockingjay… he’s your father.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx 

Columbine wound herself further into Plutarch’s arms as she listened to what he had to tell her. It was hard to take in the unbelievable news that she came from something good after all. A few days ago she had been appalled by Athena Heavensbee’s talk of bloodlines, but now she was proud to have this connection.

Plutarch was aglow as he gazed at her, his eyes much larger without his glasses. He could see best what was about 4 inches from his face. Right now he could see the dark freckles across Columbine’s nose and cheeks, her soft, full lips and the deep brown eyes that melted his heart.

“You have a family to be proud of,” he said, understanding her thought before she said anything more.

She reached up to close the space between them, hungry for the sweetness of his lips.

His mouth stretched into a smile beneath her kiss.

“What is it?” She laughed. His happiness was infectious.

“Thank you for my birthday kiss.” Encircled by his arms, he pulled her in tight and rolled back so she lay on top of him. A curl of golden hair fell from her face, calling out to have his finger wound inside. 

He remembered what she had wanted on her birthday. “One day, I will take you to climb a mountain, I promise.” He had an urge to take her out of the trap of the Capitol. He wanted to set her free.

His words, whispered into the hollow of her neck, elicited a groan. Pleasure with a tinge of pain. In the back of her mind was the nagging thought that she was putting him in danger, but, against her better judgement, she found herself stretching her head back to expose more skin to his lips.

  


XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

They met whenever they could get a chance, mostly late afternoons at Bene’s. The TV studio’s were just around the corner and Columbine’s ‘job’ as a party playgirl didn’t start until nearly midnight, giving them a few hours together most days. 

Plutarch had stayed and waited for her last night. By the time she got in, it was already well into Sunday morning. The smell of a strong coffee brewing wafted out into the hallway. Columbine arrived with her hair folded into a hat, a scarf pulled over her face. At least the cold spell they were having made it easier to hide. 

“I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep back at Creador’s.” He tried not to sound disappointed, but he had hoped she would have been back sooner. He’d hardly slept, with one ear listening out for her return.

She came and put her arms around him. “There were just so many cameras. At least they’ll have some good shots of me and Erik, should keep them happy for a day or two. Columbine had been spending her nights with Erik, a ruggedly handsome victor from District 7. Rumour had it she might finally be going to settle down with this one.

He passed her a coffee, the steam clouding up his glasses. He knew it had to be this way, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous. Columbine had tried to assure him there was nothing really going on. Erik was happy to have a cover story to take him off the Capitol’s escort circuit for a while. No questions asked. She took Plutarch’s hand and led him to the sofa, tucking herself under his arm to lean on his chest, her coffee mug resting on his knee. She was trying not to yawn.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to; I am sick to death of gossip and pretence. Tell me something real.”

“I took Seymour for a walk, we went to the cemetery.”

Columbine felt comforted by the image, her eyelids starting to close as Plutarch’s words faded into a dream. The three of them wandering under the blossom trees. He caught the cup just in time before the hot liquid spilled onto his leg. 

Plutarch took the chance to study her sleeping face. Columbine’s colouring was darker than her father; her hair more a deep gold than blonde, her skin both tanned and freckled. Her eyelashes were amazingly long and dark, even without make-up. Her lips were naturally a deep pink. He noticed how dry they looked. She hadn’t been drinking enough water. He wondered if she had been making herself sick at the club too.

Tucking his arms under her knees and around her back, he braced himself and lifted her up. She was slim but he wasn’t used to lifting and he wobbled as she wriggled in her sleep.

“Sshhh,” he tucked her into the large bed, still warm from his over night shift in it. At least they were together, he told himself, and opened a book. 

He must have nodded off, as he was woken by someone insistently knocking on the door. Not sure what to do, he hovered between getting out of bed and hiding. The decision was made by Columbine’s hand pulling him down under the covers. “Don’t let anyone know we’re here.”

“Do you think we’ve been found out?” Her eyes were wide with fear.

“I hope not.” He climbed back in and took her hand. She squeezed until it hurt. He was happy to see she’d put the garnet ring on again. 

“Sorry,” she noticed him looking down at his slightly purpling fingers and kissed them softly back to life. “It would just be the end if they found you with me. Are you sure you want to keep doing this?”

He shook his head in disbelief. How could she even ask that?

“Do you?”

“If I were a better person, I would tell you ‘no’,” She punctuated her words with the gentlest kisses along his jaw line. “But, I’m no good; and I’m dragging you down with me.” She stopped abruptly. “That’s so selfish. I should go.”

This happened every few times they met. A surge of guilt and self-loathing would take over her. So he took over the caresses, savouring the softness of her skin, before homing in on her lips, and kissing her into submission. They continued like this long after the knocking had stopped.

Plutarch grazed his teeth across Columbine’s ear lobe, tugging gently. His breath on her neck shivered deliciously down her collar to her breast. She wondered if he knew what he did to her.

“I heard you visited a brothel when you went to district 1.” She cringed at herself as soon as she mentioned it. What did it matter? Did she really want to start the whole, ‘how many sexual partners have you had’ conversation?

She was acutely aware of his hand resting on her thigh, the fingertips stilled where they had been lightly kneading. “I guess you heard that from my mother?” 

Athena’s attempts to interfere in his life were nothing new to Plutarch. He tried to remain cool about it. Going to the brothel was practically a rite of passage in the Capitol, but he could feel the heat on his cheeks, “It was my father’s idea of a treat.” 

Columbine liked his blushes, he was even more adorable than ever. “So …, how was it?” She couldn’t resist playing with him a little.

“Useful; I think.” He was nearly the colour of a strawberry now. “She was really nice and kind, I got some tips.”

“Really?” Columbine was genuinely interested. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, his mouth drying with nerves.

“She told me the main thing young men do is rush too much. That I should try to slow down.”

“Oh,” Columbine let her finger follow her eyes, running it over the lump in his throat, down his neck to the opening of his shirt. After 3 months, she wouldn’t really mind if he sped things up a bit.

“And, she said it’s ok to ask, to let the other person know what you like.”

Columbine nodded her approval at this. “Yes, that is good advice.” She had been trying to let Plutarch know what she wanted for the last couple of weeks, but didn’t want to scare him off by being too direct. 

Finally turning bright red, he added. “She said you can’t be shy, if you’re going to be naked together.”

Columbine grinned. He clearly wanted the same thing she did, but was too shy to make a move. She bit her lip to restrain herself. 

The moment lasted just a little too long, it was dangerously close to becoming awkward as they waited for each other to take the lead.

Just in time, Plutarch got through his mental working out, and managed to come up with something. 

“Would you like to…be naked together?”

Columbine replied by unbuttoning her blouse. “Yes, thanks for asking!” she laughed with relief.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, gulping at the sight of her removing her pants.

_Slow down_ , Plutarch had it on repeat in his head.

“Are we going to be this polite all the time?” She turned around so he could unfasten her bra.

He resisted the urge to rip the clasp apart, instead making himself take in the full experience of lowering one strap then the other. It was worth it to have the sight of her exposed shoulders.

“I hope not.” He stroked his hand down the nape of her neck and whispered, “I want to bite your shoulder, is that weird?”

“Not to hurt you or leave a mark,” he quickly tried to back track.

_Slow down. ___

“It’s just, you have beautiful skin.” He unfastened the clasp, and let go.

Columbine turned around and lowered the fabric that covered her small but soft breasts.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she spoke quietly into his ear. “I trust you completely. You can do whatever you want.”

It made him feel afraid. He wasn’t sure he was really quite as good as she thought he was. 

Columbine felt him trembling. She pulled back and looked at him. “I understand you were told not to rush, but I seem to be the only one taking any clothes off!”

He still hesitated, so Columbine unbuttoned his shirt for him.

“I guess most of your boyfriends have been the more muscular type.” Plutarch was acutely aware of his rounded shoulders and lack of bulk.

She slipped her arms under his and pressed herself onto his chest, savouring the feeling of their bodies touching at last. “I can’t deny I slept with too many people back when I was a wild-child. But I was usually drunk or high or whatever. This last couple of years I haven’t actually been with anyone.” She kissed the base of his neck. “This isn’t about what our bodies look like, it’s about getting closer.” Her nails gently dragged down his back to the top of his pants. Circling round to his fly, she put on the polite tone they had started out with again, “May I?”

The blood pounding in Plutarch’s brain was starting to drown out the _‘slow down.’ ___

His hands had been balled up by his sides, but now he reached out to touch her. He understood she meant what she said about looks not mattering, but he still thought she was way out of his league. It seemed he was the shallow one in this relationship after all. Resolving to try to become a better man for her, he ran his hands up over her thighs, around her soft hips to meet by her naval, then up again, feathering over her ribcage until he cupped her breast, his fingertips circling the peaking nipple. He leaned in to take it into his mouth, muttering, “Please stop me, I can’t stop myself any more.”

From there on he had needed little encouragement and just a bit of guidance. He blushingly confessed he really had just talked with the hostess at the brothel, “we played chess; I am such a dork,” he groaned. Columbine took the lead and climbed on top, encouraging him to follow his instincts and do what came naturally. Stripped of all pretences, it was the same for both of them. They had never felt so close to another human being in their lives.


End file.
